What Lies Beneath the Mask
by iMuseD
Summary: A father's case and a brother's secret will have terrible consequences for one of the Hardys. Can they pull through, put it together, and save one of their own? Angst&Frank-whumpage.OVillains, potential OCxFrank !will.be.rewritten!
1. Chapter 1

Hi Everyone! Thanks for clicking, this is my first fanfic so... tell me what you think. Pls. r&r.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the Hardy Boys, sadly enough.

The Hardy Boys in a completely different light... Enjoy.

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"Joe, I can't believe you!" Frank said to his brother angrily. "It's not even the third month of school and you're already in trouble!" The two brothers were walking down the sidewalk to their home on Ever Grande from school and were only four blocks away.

"I know, I know," Joe mumbled in frustration. "But they get on my nerves all the time! I don't know how they do it but it just is! Besides we've got to look after each other."

"What? You know, you've got to learn to control yourself, Joe," Frank said, more gently this time.

"I'm fine. I've got it covered. You don't have to cover up for me anymore," Joe said, looking at his brother with heated defiance.

"I'm not the cover up guy," Frank said. "I just don't want you getting into deeper trouble than you are already in. Mom and dad have been wondering why your grades are slipping—"

"You don't have to make mistakes on purpose just to show them that I'm like you!" Joe spat. "I'm not expecting you to have to keep your grades lower than usual just because mine are going downhill and that's just—"

"Look, Joe, I'm only trying to help!" Frank said, stopping for a moment to catch his breath. The two had been arguing nonstop the whole time they'd been walking together. Joe stopped alongside his brother.

"I don't get you!" He cried out in exasperation. "I don't see how that's helping me!"

"You're the one who doesn't make sense, Joe!" Frank retorted. "The past two months and you've been in detention only twenty plus times! The only reason mom and dad never know anything about it is because they're too busy to notice and because Aunt Gertrude and I are the ones making excuses for you."

"Well, then, stop!" Joe screamed, not caring if the whole world heard what they were arguing about. "Stop pretending like you actually even care that I'm in trouble and that I need help. You're just using me to make you look better! Everyone knows that."

"Joe, that's not true." Frank argued back.

"Really?" Joe said angrily. "Know why I'm even doing all this?"

"It's not as if you're going to tell me," Frank said, turning away from Joe and walking ahead.

"It's because I want the world to know that I am not and can't be like you!" Joe cried out after him. Frank stopped in his tracks. "And I never wanted to!" Joe added and then watched as Frank continued walking after a long pause. After his brother disappeared around the corner, Joe cursed under his breath and kicked at a tree stump near him with rage.

"Aunt Gertrude," Frank called as he entered the Hardy residence. "I need to talk to you about something!" He flung his bag underneath the coat rack and went to the kitchen. There was a note on the table with Aunt Gertrude's hasty penmanship: _Visiting a friend in New York. Sorry had to leave so sudden. Order out, money on the counter. Be back in a week or so. Love you boys, be good. Aunt Gertrude._ Great, Frank thought. Now I have to be stuck alone with him for a week; Hopefully mom and dad will be here tomorrow night. The answering machine was blinking persistently so Frank walked over and reviewed the messages.

The message was from Mrs. Hardy. _Beep_. 'Hey, it's me. Just wanted to tell you boys that I'm still here in Washington and I won't be coming home for another two weeks. I can't wait to tell you boys how amazing the museum pieces that I've seen are. Your father wanted me to tell you that he's currently working on a case for a client in St. Louis so he won't be home for some time as well. Gertrude called me earlier and I hope you got her note. There's pocket money in your father's study if you boys need it. Have fun boys and no chaos until we get back. Okay, see you in two weeks!' _Beep_.

"Great, now mom and dad aren't going to be here either," Frank shook his head with annoyance. Just then the front door swung open and Joe strolled in.

"Aunt Gertrude!" Joe called, not seeing his brother as he walked into the living room.

"She's in New York," Frank answered the call. "She won't be back for another week." Joe nearly jumped at his brother's seemingly sudden appearance but then shrugged as if he didn't care.

"I thought you'd be at Chet's or Callie's or something," Joe said.

"Yeah, well, I'm not," Frank replied, without looking at him.

"You usually are when we have an argument."

"If that's what you call it..." Frank murmured.

"What about mom?" Joe asked, deciding to forget what they'd been talking about a few moments earlier.

"She's still looking at the artwork in the Smithsonian museum and she said she'll be there for another two weeks. She left a message." Frank summed up for him.

"Dad?" Joe flung himself onto the couch and sighed.

"He's not coming home yet either." Frank answered.

"Guess I'm stuck with you, huh?" Joe said snidely.

"Yep," Frank answered and went upstairs leaving Joe alone in the living room.

The younger Hardy reached for the phone and dialed a number.

'Hello?'

'Hey, it's Joe,' Joe spoke into the receiver.

'Oh, hey Joe, something wrong? You do know calls are for emergencies only, right?'

'Consider being stuck alone with your older brother for two whole weeks an emergency,' Joe commented. The person on the other line laughed.

'What can I do?'

'What's on schedule for today?'

'Nothing but a meet. Warren Docks. An hour past midnight.'

'That's earlier than usual.'

'Well, the Trumps have been around more than normal. We have to keep an eye out more.'

'That explains it. I think they've even gathered a few recruits at Bayport High.'

'Yeah. Some of them were from other gangs even.'

'Turncoats.' Joe sighed. 'None of them Keepers I hope?'

'Mostly Tags, 86s, and a couple Zingers. Luckily, none from our side.'

'Okay, thanks. I'll be seeing you tonight then?'

'Don't hold your breath, Joe. I wouldn't want to be out there anytime soon.'

Joe chuckled. 'Scared?'

'Nah. Just cautious. Trumps have a long history with the blues. They do pretty nasty things when they want really hurt someone.'

'Or when they're really bored.' Joe added with an angry sigh.

'That too,' the voice agreed seriously.

"Joe!" Frank called from upstairs.

Joe sighed heavily with irritation.

'Look, Zeke, I have to go.' Joe said.

'I'll tell the others you'll be coming.'

'Sure, thanks.' The younger Hardy hung the receiver and slumped against the sofa.

"Joe!" Frank's tone was becoming impatient.

"What is it?" Joe yelled, halfway up the stairs.

With annoyance openly expressed in the scowl on his face, Joe walked into the room that he shared with his brother

"What is it?" Joe demanded.

"Since when did you sleep with a baseball bat under your pillow?" Frank asked, holding a baseball bat outward.

Joe hid his surprise and glared at his brother.

"Since when did you start shoving your nose into my stuff?" Joe snapped and grabbed the bat from his brother.

"I don't understand what's gotten into you lately, Joe," Frank said.

"You don't understand anything." Joe muttered under his breath as he placed the bat under his pillow. Standing up again he looked at his brother. "The bat is just for emergencies."

"What emergencies, Joe?" Frank asked incredulously. "You think someone's going to attack you in your sleep?!"

"I'm just being cautious." Joe said, recalling what Zeke had said earlier.

"We've got an alarm system set up, floodlights in the yards! I don't know how anyone could possibly—"

"That's the thing, Frank, _you_ don't know. You _never_ know," Joe argued. There was a long uncomfortable pause.

"Know what?" Frank said, throwing his arms in the air angrily. "Do whatever you want. The only reason why I cared so much and why I 'shove my nose into your stuff' is because you're my brother and I don't want you getting hurt."

"Yeah, sure," Joe muttered as his brother turned away from him.

"I'm bushed," Frank mumbled. "Goodnight."

Joe didn't reply instead grabbed his pillows and blanket and marched down the stairs toward the sofa.


	2. Chapter 2

Joe awoke to the sound of knocking at their front door. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock which read 12:08 am. He grunted in surprise and grabbed the bat next to him. Slowly he went to the door and keeping the chain locked, he opened it.

"Joe, it's me!" a familiar voice hissed urgently. "Quick let me in!"

"Zeke?!" Joe whispered back in shock. He shut the door, unfastened the chain and let the youth in. "What are you doing here?!" He asked as he fastened the door shut again.

"I know, I know," Zeke muttered. "I know you made it clear that your parents aren't supposed to find out but I wasn't thinking straight and I figured maybe you can help—"

"Whoa, Zeke, slow down!" Joe said, turning the lights on in the kitchen. He offered Zeke a seat. "Now, what's going on? Where are Sam, Hank, and Carl?"

"I—I don't know, Joe! It happened so fast!" Zeke stammered loudly and nervously.

"Shhh!" Joe warned. "My brother's upstairs, keep it down!"

"Sorry, are your parents—?"

"No, they're out of town."

Zeke nodded slowly, trying to take a breath.

"Okay, so what happened?" Joe continued.

"The Trumps. I don't know how they found out but they did. They knew we'd be there at the docks. They came with their baseball bats, jack knives, clubs, blackjacks.... it was real scary, man. I mean, the Keepers have always managed to keep everything under control and in place but ever since the Trumps have been recruiting other gang members they've doubled and turned most of the gangs into book clubs! They creamed us! There were more than thirty of them, I'd say. The Keepers have only twenty or so members."

"So that's what happened down at the docks?"

"The meeting wasn't supposed to start before one o'clock but everyone is usually there before then anyway."

"But I thought you weren't going?" Joe asked.

"I didn't," Zeke said. "But Carl came to the Yard and told me what had happened."

"So what did happen?"

"They were attacked. The Trumps jumped on 'em. It was the perfect opportunity to. Everyone was so unprepared for it since as a rule you're not supposed to bring _any_ weapon to a meet."

"Cheap hoodlums," Joe growled, "on the offense against guys with no defense or offense!"

"I know," Zeke snarled with a clenched fist, his fear and nervousness replaced with anger.

"What did they do?"

"Keepers don't go down without a fight. Carl told me they grabbed nets nearby and broke glass windows for anything they can use to defend themselves. Some Keepers ran to warn the others or call for backup but few of them got past the Trumps that surrounded the place. They were outnumbered, man. Carl saw Sam go down and Hank was trying to help him. But then Head told him to warn others. I guess he managed to get around the Trumps and to me."

Joe nodded. "Okay, let's go, we have to get to the Docks."

"I don't know, Joe," Zeke mumbled. "Maybe we should stay at the Yard and wait for any others to come."

"We have to get to Head and help the others otherwise there will be nobody to wait for at the Yard!" Joe urged as he put his jacket on. Zeke nodded walked into the living room to wait for Joe.

"You sleep in your clothes…and in the living room?" Zeke asked, only then realizing Joe was fully dressed and the pillows and blanket were strewn on the sofa.

"Only on meet nights," Joe said.

"Oh," Zeke understood. "So, ummm, what about your brother?" He spied a family photo nearby and felt his eyes stinging a little with sorrow and a little envy.

"He'll be fine," Joe muttered somewhat angrily as he packed his bag with a few clothes.

"Does he know?" Zeke asked.

"It's better he doesn't," Joe answered. "He won't understand."

Zeke smiled at him sadly.

"My big brother didn't understand."

Joe laughed. "Bet you wished you didn't have one in the first place."

"He got killed in the crossfire between some gangs."

Joe paused guiltily. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I was fifteen then. He was just a year older than me. He'd be eighteen now."

"Frank's eighteen," Joe said. "I'm just a year younger than him." He turned to Zeke with the backpack slung over his shoulder.

"You don't have to do this, Joe," Zeke said. "Your brother's probably been telling you that too. Even if he doesn't know exactly what's going on, he knows something's wrong. That's what big brothers do. Maybe you should just stay here the rest of the week and spend it with him."

"I've got my other brothers out there too and they need me more than he does" Joe said quietly, secretly mulling over everything Zeke and Frank had said earlier. "Let's go."

"Don't say I didn't try," Zeke mumbled. "Okay."

"So where exactly do the Trumps stay?"

"Nobody knows 'cept them. But Carl managed to pick this out of one of their pockets in the scuffle," Zeke handed Joe a small wrinkled piece of paper. "It's the abandoned theater downtown. It's a big rundown place, easy to hide in but not so easy to hide."

"Why would a Trump be holding one of these? Wouldn't they already know where the hideout is?" Joe asked.

"Not if they were a new recruit," Zeke pointed out.

"Right," Joe threw the flyer onto the kitchen table and he and Zeke walked out the front door, carefully locking the door behind them.

"What'd you bring?" Zeke asked Joe as the Hardy slipped the keys under the doormat.

"Nothing in particular," Joe said with a sly smile.

"Exactly what we need," Zeke teased. The two walked down the sidewalk toward downtown Bayport.


	3. Chapter 3

Frank awoke at the sound of glass breaking. He turned to the side facing Joe and whispered for Joe.

"Joe, wake up! I think someone's downstairs." He hissed but then remembered that his brother had decided to sleep on the sofa after seeing the stripped bed.

Grabbing his watch he read 12:46 am. He got out of his bed slowly and crept to the door. Opening it a bit he peered into the hallway and seeing it empty, stepped out of the room.

"Is that you, Jo—?" He called.

He heard footsteps and turned about into a defensive stance but the intruder was faster.

A pair of hands seized his arms, pinning them behind his back, and a stout arm clamped around his neck, forcing his head back. He opened his mouth to cry out, but a crumpled cloth was crammed between his teeth, then another cloth was pulled tight over it and tied in place. Before he could get a glimpse of his assailants, a third band of fabric was put over his eyes.

Squirming frantically, he lashed out with his legs at the attackers. There was a muttered curse as one of the kicks connected. Something solid struck him hard on the right knee and he fell to his knees, doubling over in pain, with a gasp that drew the ball of cloth into his throat, gagging him.

"Who are you people? What do you want?" Frank tried to say but his words came out as grunts and moans.

"An eye for an eye," A voice chuckled. The young Hardy felt a bat whack him from behind and he sprawled onto the floor, gritting his teeth. The intruders landed multiple blows all over his body until he felt numb with pain. A kick collided with the side of his head and for a few moments everything went dark.

"Satisfied?" the same voice earlier asked.

"I don't know," another one answered slowly, as if in thought.

"Maybe we should take him to Council... that oughta teach him a lesson!" a deep voice suggested angrily. Frank could taste the blood in his mouth and coughed painfully.

"I hate Keepers," yet another voice, a shrill one, added.

"Yeah, but the others took care of them," deep voice said.

"So are we just gonna stand around here staring at it or are we gonna do something about it?" first voice said impatiently.

"Let's bring him," slow voice decided finally.

Frank tried to cry out in protest but weariness overwhelmed him. He could only call for Joe in his mind as he felt hands on his arms pulling him to his feet.


	4. Chapter 4

"This is it," Joe said, looking at a large building that had obviously been neglected.

"I love the Yard," Zeke said in awe. "Makes a much better HQ than this one."

"Yeah, well," Joe said. "Keepers have better taste." Zeke didn't reply and instead tried the door of the entrance.

"It's locked from the inside," Zeke said.

"Well, it's not like they're going to leave the front door open for us to just barge in," Joe sighed. Zeke shrugged.

"Let's try the back," Zeke suggested. The Hardy nodded and the two made their way down a dark alley, turned the corner and to the back entrance of the theater.

This time Joe tried the door and found it locked as well.

"Great," Joe grunted.

"There's got to be a way in."

"Are you sure this is where the Trumps meet?"

"Yeah. A friend told me. She said this was where they hang out 24/7 almost."

"A friend?" Joe noticed how Zeke turned pink when he said that.

Zeke shifted uncomfortably and sighed. "We dated for awhile..."

Joe chuckled. "Okay, I think it's better I leave that as it is."

"Thanks, man," Zeke smiled, relieved at not having to spill every detail of the affair.

"Just one question," Joe said. "Why didn't it work out?"

"She's a Trump... I'm a Keeper... I didn't tell her at first but when she started telling me that she was meeting a few friends down at this theater I knew she must've been had her own posse."

"How'd you know she was a Trump?" Joe asked curiously, not having encountered one before up close.

"All Trumps have the same mindset. They all believe that they are," Zeke snorted for a moment. "the best and the only ones that have the right to be. I should've known about her earlier. I mean, I know girls tend to be competitive sometimes but I guess..."

"Okay, I get it," Joe smiled understandingly.

"Come to think of it," Zeke said. "She mentioned that the theater was her favorite place in the world but getting there wasn't exactly her idea of fun. Her friends always bring up 'underpass.' I always figured it was some kind of street name spoof."

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" Joe said with a sigh. "This could've made everything so much easier."

"Well, I didn't think of it then," Zeke replied.

"Fine," Joe said. "Spoof or no spoof underpass means only one thing."

Zeke looked at him questioningly.

Joe sighed. "Sewer."

"What?" Zeke said.

"That's it. That's how they get in and out of the theater."

"Dude, that'd mean that they'd have to climb in and out of toilets or urinals or washbasins!"

"Hey, it wasn't exactly your girlfriends idea of fun, was it?"

"_Ex_-girlfriend," Zeke corrected intensely.

"Whatever you say," Joe laughed. "Come on, I saw a man hole cover a few yards into the alley from where he entered."

"You're joking," Zeke said with an unconvincing laugh. "You aren't really going to go down there and—"

"Sure," Joe said calmly and slapped him on the shoulder. "Let's go." And started back into the alley.

"Joe!" Zeke called and hurried after him. "I really don't think this is a good idea."

Joe walked around in a large circle.

"What are you doing?" Zeke hissed.

"Looking," Joe answered, still searching the ground around them carefully.

"For what?"

"Crowbar,"

"Right, like you're going to find one just lying around—" he stopped as he watched Joe stop and pick something up and hold it toward him.

"You were saying?" Joe said with a smile.

Zeke tossed the crowbar lightly in his hands with a smirk and looked at Joe. "Okay, smart guy, how did you know?"

"Instinct." Joe answered.

"No really."

Joe laughed. "If you were going to have to come through here as often as the Trumps do, would you want to carry a crowbar around with you every time?"

"Well, no, I guess not," Zeke answered and Joe looked at him expectantly. "This is why I would leave it here for convenience."

"Exactly," Joe said pleasantly and took the crowbar and used to open and move the man hole cover to one side.

Zeke looked at Joe in deep thought. "Hey, Joe, you're pretty good at this detective stuff."

Joe froze and looked at him. For a moment the thought of his brother at home alone entered his mind. He shook his head. "Nah, I'm just good at nosing around."

Zeke laughed and followed Joe down the ladder, replacing the man-hole cover above him. "It's dark in here."

"Yeah, which is why," Joe reached into his backpack and flipped on the flashlight he had gotten from his aunt Gertrude on his fifteenth birthday. "I brought this."

"Boy scout." Zeke muttered with a laugh.

"Keep it down," Joe warned but with a small smile. The two moved on down the tunnel.

"How do we know if we're under the theater?" Zeke asked.

"We'll have to wait," Joe replied.

"Wait for what? Trumps might be coming any minute!" Zeke said worriedly.

"That's the whole point. We'll let them lead us up," Joe said. Zeke nodded.

"We'll have to stay in one of the passageways leading out of this main one. They won't find us there if we stay low enough." Joe continued.

Zeke nodded again and he followed the Hardy into a smaller passageway leading to the unknown. They leaned against the wall to wait. Joe grabbed a few crackers from his bag and offered some to Zeke, who failed to stifle a yawn. "Man, what time is it?" Too tired to check his own watch.

Joe glanced at his watch and answered his question for him. "It 2:39 am."

"We've been at this for two hours?"

"Give or take," Joe answered. Zeke yawned again.

"So... what're you thinking about?" Zeke asked Joe quietly.

"Nothing." Joe replied. "You?"

"Well... I think about my parents a lot..." Zeke told him.

"Do they know about—"

"My mom died when she gave birth to me... and after what happened to my brother my dad left me with his sister. I don't know where he is but he sends cash from time to time. I ran away from her house and joined the Keepers. The Yard is home to me now."

"I had no idea..."

"It's okay, I guess," Zeke said. "It's all part of the reason I decided to be a Keeper after all. Besides... now I've got nothing to lose."

Joe was silent.

"I don't mean to be rude, Joe, but what made you join. I mean, you've got your parents and your brother. You've got so much to miss. You're going to risk your life for other people?"

"In a way I'm protecting them too you know," Joe reasoned out weakly.

"Yeah, but what about protecting yourself." Zeke pointed out.

"My brother does enough of that that I get so tired of him bugging me all the time!" Joe said.

"He cares about you," Zeke said. "I envy you so much. You still have a family."

"Well," Joe said, deciding to end the conversation and not wanting to discuss his brother. "We've got to help our brother Keepers before something bad happens to them."

"I think I heard something," Zeke said, gesturing toward the end of the underpass where they had entered. There were loud voices and footsteps coming closer. Zeke and Joe leaned against the wall as a group of Trumps walked by. Joe noticed one of them, probably not a Trump, was bound and his head was covered with a bag. The other Trumps blocked his view and he couldn't see anymore of their prisoner.

"Do you think that was Head?" Zeke whispered when the Trumps disappeared.

"Shhh," Joe warned and peered out into the passageway. Then he leaned back against the wall and address Zeke. "It's the fourth hole." Zeke nodded and repeated his question.

"Do you think that guy they were with was Head?"

"I honestly couldn't tell," Joe said. "I couldn't even tell you what he was wearing."

"Hmm... so what do we do now?" Zeke asked.

"We go up," Joe answered. Zeke followed the Hardy further down the main passageway counting the holes as they went. The two stopped at the fourth hole and sighed.

"Here goes nothing," Zeke whispered as Joe lifted the hatch slowly, making sure there was no one there to surprise them first. There wasn't.


	5. Chapter 5

"We should throw him in with the rest of the Keepers," Frank heard the shrill voice say. "He's just like the rest of 'em."

"How would you know you barely know the guy?" the deep voice said.

"He's one of 'em. He and this other guy was beatin' up Chuck yesterday," the shrill voice argued. "I was there with Chuck tryin' to stop 'em."

Frank suddenly remembered seeing Joe in a brawl with another guy in school yesterday. Fortunately for Joe, the other guy was not the best fighter and got beaten easily. The Hardy had tried to talk his brother out of it and nearly got clobbered himself.

"You've the story all wrong," Frank tried to say but all that came out was muffled. "They got onto my brother! I was trying to talk them out of it!"

"You should've left them alone then," the deep voice laughed. "See what they did to Chuck?"

"Exactly my point," the shrill voice said, kicking Frank in the gut painfully. "We oughta teach 'em not ta mess with tha Trumps!"

"Stow it, Pete," deep voice warned.

"Whatever," first voice grumbled. "Our only job is to bring him to Council and that's it."

"Doesn't mean we can't rough him up a little though," sniggered shrill voice. The whole time he was being pushed, tripped, jostled along, and half-dragged, Frank guessed there were four of them. He felt the coolness of the evening air as they hauled him out of his house, the rough cement beneath his bare feet hurt.

Minutes flashed by like hours as he was hustled about. The ground changed from cement to cold ladder rungs and then he found himself stepping in cold water. Frank thought furiously on how to get away but he was outnumbered and he had no idea where he was and where he would go if he did get away.

They stopped again. Pushed from behind, Frank struggled to climb up yet another ladder. He was pulled up from above and then shoved to the ground before the four picked him up again. He had difficulty in steadying his breathing and the cloth over his head wasn't helping. They walked for a few more minutes and stopped. The cloth over his head was removed as was the cloth over his eyes and for several moments he blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden light. Someone pulled out the gag but his hands, they decided, was left bound. When he could see clearly again, around him were twenty young adults dressed shabbily but their eyes were glaring at him with ferocity. Frank spotted one who stood apart from the rest. He sat atop a stage and for the first time Frank realized this must've been some amphitheater. It was apparently old and abandoned but these teenagers had done a good job on fixing it up. The curtains had been stripped from the platform and some of the chairs in the audience had been modified into little beds. The windows and doors of the whole building were boarded shut. From where he stood, Frank couldn't tell what or who was in the black boxes since it was poorly lit.

"What's your name?" Frank's attention immediately went back to the man who was leaning comfortably in an old armchair on top of the stage. He craned his neck up painfully to address the man.

"What's it to you?" Frank questioned back. "And what did you do to my brother? Where is he?"

"Answer the question," deep voice said from behind him. For once, Frank got a good look at the four who'd brought him here. Deep voice was large and well-built, slightly tanned but his face seemed friendly despite his tone of voice. Shrill voice, Pete, was thin but had unusually long arms and legs with a small contorted face of smugness. Frank clenched his fists angrily; recalling the many times that little dwarf kicked and hit him. First voice was probably Frank's age and was handsome despite the dirt streaks on his face and scratches all over his arms and legs. Slow voice's build reminded Frank of Joe save that Joe was much better looking and healthier.

"Frank Hardy," first voice answered for him, stepping forward and tossing Frank's wallet to one of the boys standing near the man on stage. The boy handed the wallet to the man who frisked it without much care.

"Where is Joe?!" demanded Frank.

"Eighteen-years-old, a student at Bayport High," the man said. "Oh, what's this? A business card of some sort? Fenton Hardy. Hmmm...."

"He's a detective," first voice said. "The father of Frank and Joe Hardy."

"Oh?" the man said with surprise then tossed the wallet back to first voice, who pocketed it. "So what exactly is it that your father... detects, Mr. Hardy?"

"Am I supposed to know you?" Frank demanded, choosing not to answer any of his questions.

"You're supposed to be answering my questions," the man said. "But I will answer your needless inquiries."

"Nice vocabulary," Frank muttered.

"I am known only as Council. I am the leader of the Trumps," the man said.

"That's funny, I only see one you," Frank said. "You do know that a Council is an elected body or _group of people_—meaning more than one—with an administrative, advisory, or representative function don't you?"

"You're a sharp boy, Frank Hardy," the man said hollowly.

"So they say," Frank remarked. "What do you want from me?"

"I answered one of your questions," Council said. "I'd appreciate it if you return the favor."

Frank gritted his teeth. "He's not a detective anymore."

"I hate liars," Council sighed.

"I'm not lying!" Frank said.

"It's true, dad," first voice stepped forward.

"Dad?" Frank breathed.

"Fenton Hardy's retired but works as a private investigator instead." First voice said.

"Thank you, Roger," Council said. "Well, I suppose my old friend has not yet given up the good fight. Hahahaha!"

"Look, you break into my house at crack of dawn, you drag me down here just to answer your questions and laugh at my father?" Frank said angrily. "Get to the point."

"Well, well," Council said slowly. "You're a feisty one. I suppose it runs in the family."

"Where is my brother?" Frank demanded for the nth time.

"How are we supposed to know?" Roger spat. "You were supposed to be at home alone together. He wasn't there with you."

"What?" Frank felt thoughts racing through his mind.

"I think you should be more worried about what's going to happen to you," Pete whispered from behind with a snicker.

Frank remembered the misunderstanding from the day before.

"Look, my brother was only trying to defend himself. You guys started the whole thing," Frank growled defensively. "I'm sorry for what happened to Chuck but he was asking for it." He felt sweat trickling down his neck and forehead as well as thirty pairs of eyes boring into him.

"Okay," Council sighed heavily. "Take him away."

Frank felt hands on his arms again and he struggled.


	6. Chapter 6

"What?" He yelled. "That's it?! Let me go!" He managed to push away the men trying to hold him. "You can't keep me here! What do you want?"

"You'll find out when the time comes," Council said calmly and beckoned for two other men to restrain Frank. Outnumbered again, Frank felt himself gagged and then half-pulled and half-dragged across the floor toward a dark corridor when Council called for them in a sudden.

"Wait," Council said. "Keep him here. I want him nearby when he comes."

"What?" Frank said through the gag. "Who's he talking about?" One of the men carrying him up to the stage seemed to be the only one who heard him.

"Who else," he whispered. "Fenton Hardy. He's been tryin' to nail the Trumps for months now. Fact is, we're one of the last groups in the whole freakin' states. Us and the ones in St. Louis."

Frank suddenly remembered the days his father had been flying to places across the country and that his mother mentioned that Fenton would still be in St. Louis for a few days.

Frank shook his head in disbelief as the men sat him up against one side of Council's armchair roughly. The young Hardy let out a few kicks but the men seemed to just swat his blows away like flies. Finally, the men decided to tie Frank's feet together as well. Dad's coming here will be a mistake, Frank thought. He can't come here. Not with me around.

"You're our only leverage," Council said in a low voice, patting Frank on the head condescendingly. "Let the show begin!" Only two things were on Frank's mind... what would happen if his father came... and how Joe was doing.

"I told you so," Zeke whispered to Joe. A group of Trumps walked past them laughing and jostling each other.

"Yeah, well, don't get too excited," Joe whispered back as the group went by, keeping his head low. "Someone might notice."

"Come on, we fit in real well. None of these guys have actually seen us with the Keepers before anyhow. I mean, I always stay in the yard. And you, well, you needed to keep low with the group because of the whole family thing. They won't know the difference between us and the new recruits."

"Fine, just keep it down will you and don't let anyone get too close."

After walking through and past small groups of the Trumps, the two youths made their way to the stairs.

"We'll get a better view from higher ground," Joe said and Zeke followed him up to one of the black boxes.

The two stood there for a moment, breathing in the view. Although the theater hadn't been fixed up completely, the view from up high was still worthy of note. Joe pulled out binoculars out of his bag but even without them he could tell that there were at least thirty to forty people settled in front of the stage.

"Who is that?" Zeke murmured. He was squinting at another figure seated on the stage. Joe trained the binoculars on the sitting figure and nearly cried out.

"Oh, no," He breathed out, his palms starting to sweat because of how tight he gripped the binoculars.

"What? Did I say something—" Zeke asked, seeing Joe turn white. He took the binoculars from the young Hardy.

"Oh, my god—" Joe said. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I'll kill myself if anything happens to him—"

"Uh-oh," Zeke agreed. "That's your brother beside the guy in the chair isn't it?"

"What is he doing here?!" Joe clenched his fist anxiously.

"Man, calm down," Zeke said. Joe leaned against the banister, feeling his knees weaken. "He doesn't seem hurt, that's a good sign."

"Yeah, sure," Joe laughed hollowly. "He just tied up, gagged _and_ covered in bruises. This is ALL my fault!" Joe yelled. A few Trumps around them stared in their direction.

"Joe, you have to keep it down," Zeke hissed urgently, grabbing Joe by the arm and dragging him to a more secluded part of the second floor of the theater. "Keep your head straight, Joe! We'll get him out of here along with the other Keepers."

"You don't understand, Zeke," Joe insisted. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have left him alone. I should've told him about the Keepers. In fact, I shouldn't have—" The two stared at each other uncomfortably.

"Shouldn't have joined the keepers," Zeke finished for him.

"Zeke, I didn't mean," Joe tried to explain but stopped when Zeke shook his head and held up a hand.

"It's okay, I understand," Zeke said. "I'd probably be thinking the same way you are if that was my brother down there."

"I'm sorry," Joe said without knowing exactly what he was apologizing for.

"Don't be," Zeke said. "We're here to get the others out. Helping your brother with just the two of us won't work against thirty Trumps. We need the others."

"I know," Joe said. "But there's something wrong." Zeke looked at him questioningly. "Why isn't Frank put with the other Keepers?" he continued. "That guy in the armchair looks like the leader of the Trumps. Why keep Frank so close?"

"Honestly," Zeke sighed. "I don't know. But we better get going, people are starting to stare." Joe looked around and noticed people glancing their way.

"There's something going on here," Joe muttered. "I can feel it." He glanced at his brother onstage one more time before following Zeke back down the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

Frank felt time pass like sluggishly. Apart from Council, the other Trumps weren't much conversationalists from where he sat. Roger was amid the other Trumps, far from the stage. He almost seemed to be sociable from the way Frank saw him talking and discussing eagerly and familiarly with the other boys. The young Hardy shifted uncomfortably where he sat, ignoring some of the Trumps who were still staring at him in contemplation. His mouth felt dry and sore but every time he tried to reach and pull off the gag, he was cuffed soundly by someone behind.

"Council, it's been quite some time," Frank watched one brave Trump approach the Council. "I don't mean to be rude but shouldn't they be here by now?"

"Patience," Council murmured and waved him away. He looked at Frank nonchalantly. "Last I heard Fenton Hardy was out of town, yes?" He leaned over and pulled the gag loose.

Frank smacked his lips gratefully but the insides of his mouth were still parched and stung when he opened his mouth. Council was still looking at him expectantly.

"He's not coming!" Frank rasped.

Council laughed. "Don't you wish it!"

"Nothing you do to me matters," Frank said. "People should get what they deserve."

The man looked at him blankly.

"You poor boy," He clucked. "It's a shame I have to resort to such gruesome..." His words trailed off; almost taunting him.

"For your sake," Frank said. "I hope they put you behind bars for a long time. For whatever it is you and the Trumps did or have been doing."

"I'd pray he won't come if I were you," Council replied.

"Let him come," Frank said, but his words were empty. "unless you're more scared than I am!"

"Hush," Council said, putting a finger to his lips. "Speaking of which, here he comes!" Frank felt his muscles tense as he watched Trumps scurrying into the unlit sides and corners of the theater. Holding his breath, he watched as police stormed in, shouting at the top of their lungs.

"Everyone stay calm!"

"No sudden moves!"

"Keep your hands where we can see them!"

The police seemed more frantic than the Trumps. But the young Hardy felt his stomach lurch when he saw his father walking down one of the aisles.

"What's going on?" Joe asked no one in particular when he heard loud shouting.

"Come on, Joe," Zeke urged, bouncing on his heels impatiently. "We're almost there! There aren't any Trumps around, let's go!"

"That's the whole point," Joe insisted. "Where are all the Trumps?"

"We can figure that out when we get to Head," Zeke said and ran ahead. Joe started to protest but followed. The two searched two more hallways and were halfway down a third one when they heard pounding on one of the doors. Zeke found the door where the pounding was coming from, got down on his stomach and whispered through the gap between the bottom end of the door and the floor.

"Keepers!" Zeke hissed.

"Zeke? Is that you?" a voice floated from the other side.

"Sam!" Zeke exclaimed. "Hey, is Head with you?"

"No," Sam replied. "We don't know where he is. We don't know where the others are."

"Okay, stand back, we'll try to get the door open!"

"Okay. Man, I'm glad to you're here! I thought Carl wouldn't be able to get to you."

"Same here. Have you seen Carl?" Zeke got no reply, then stood up and looked at Joe.

"I brought a lock pick if that's what you're asking for," Joe said and handed it to Zeke. Zeke tossed the device about on his palm and then handed it back to Joe.

"I think it's better if you do it," Zeke said. "What I had in mind was more like screwdriver and wire."

Joe nodded and set to work on the lock until it popped open. Zeke swung the door open and saw eleven youths, including Sam, staring back at them exhausted but grateful. They were all covered in scratches, dried blood, busted lips and bruises.

"Joe," Sam said. "I didn't think you'd—"

"Hey, I've always been a team player," Joe said. "And I never let my team down."

"He's right," Zeke said, putting an arm around Joe's shoulders. "I couldn't have gotten down here without him." The bruised-up Keepers in the room nodded and thanked the two youths.

"Sam, where's Hank?" Zeke asked, looking around at the familiar faces.

"The whole thing went downhill so fast," Sam said, shaking his head. "We were unprepared. Hank stayed by Head the whole time. So find one, you find the other. Where's Carl?"

"I don't know. He came by the yard to tell me everything then the next thing I know, he's gone."

"Maybe he's with the others," Sam said. "Evan, Wayne, Jack aren't with us."

"My brother, Dave, is missing too," one of the Keepers said. Joe flinched without meaning too and Zeke noticed but didn't say anything.

"Three of our recruits decided to switch over to the Trumps," Sam added with a little regret. "Owen, Ryan, Chris, Bruce and Drew were the only ones other than you and Joe who weren't accounted for yet when we were at the Docks. No one's sure about how they are."

"That's about ten other guys not including Hank and Head," Zeke said slowly. "We'll have to find them."

"Now that there are more of us," Joe said. "It should be quicker."

"Yeah, but what if the Trumps see us?" one of the Keepers asked.

"No Trumps seem to be around right now," Joe explained. "Besides, they're not expecting anyone to break in and break out all in the same night. There's something going on upstairs and they're too preoccupied."

"What's happening?" one of the Keepers asked.

"We don't know," Joe answered. "But we're going to find out soon enough. That is, after we find the others."

"We're right here," a voice said behind them.

"Hank!" Zeke exclaimed. "Where's Head?"

"Right here," a firm voice said. Head emerged and stood by Hank.

"We got out and came to get you guys," Hank said.

"Joe and Zeke helped us out," Sam explained.

"I'm glad you joined us, Joe," Head said softly.

"My pleasure," Joe said. "I joined the Keepers thinking I could make a difference. I did and I didn't do it by staying home and keeping you guys a secret from my parents." And brother, Joe thought.

"Thank you," Head said.

"Well, now that we've got everybody," Hank said. "We should get outta here." Joe saw from the corner of his eye the young Keeper who had been looking for his brother, reunite with his sibling and swallowed with difficulty.

"Zeke," He called gently. "What about—"

"Right," Zeke remembered. "Listen, Hank, the Trumps still got Joe's brother. We have to help him."

"Frank, right?" Hank asked Joe.

"Yes, how'd you know?" Joe answered.

"We overheard everything on the stage. The guy they call Council is the leader apparently. I think he wants to hold your brother hostage."

"Why?"

"He said Fenton Hardy was coming and your brother was their 'leverage.'"

Joe felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach.

"I don't quite follow," Sam said slowly.

Joe sighed heavily and gave an angry groan.

"My father is Fenton Hardy, private investigator, a retired detective," Joe explained. "Lately he's been taking cross-country trips. I figured that the only reason why the Trumps and the Council guy would need leverage is if they were afraid of getting caught. But what I don't get is what is it exactly that they have been doing that they don't want anyone else to know about."

"I'm afraid there is more than one answer to that question," Head said and the entire Keepers listened in. "As all of you know, the Trumps are not exactly the most polished bunch of youths on the streets of Bayport these days. They have resorted to theft in the past—until now, actually. But after Council, better known as Frederick Wesley was assigned the new leader, the Trumps have evolved into modern-day drug pushers, drug runners, smugglers of all sorts, and they will do anything to keep that a secret."

"Is that why all of you were attacked at the Docks?" Zeke asked.

"Partially," the Head answered. "As you all know, we Keepers have to keep an eye on everything that goes on in our city. Several of our recon teams have found evidence of their drug activities. Most of the youngsters that the Trumps sell the drugs to eventually join them, in hopes of getting the meds regularly and at a lesser price."

"So that explains why your dad must be investigating this case," Sam told Joe, who nodded in agreement.

"But still, why would he use Joe's brother?"

"What you see is what you get. Apparently, Frank Hardy was the only one home last night." Head said glancing at Joe, who was looking pale and biting his lip guiltily.

"It's not like Fenton Hardy is going to bust in here all by himself," Sam said. "Right? I mean, won't he bring back-up police or something?"

"Hence the new recruits," Hank explained.

"But the police have guns and stuff," Sam argued.

"The Trumps have their blackjacks and whatnots," Head said.

"I'm sorry," Joe said, more anxious than apologetic. "But I think we should really get going now."

"Right," Hank said. "Let's split up. On the way here, I got a good look at the setup of the stage and everything."

"Yeah, we saw everything from the balcony," Joe nodded. "I read about it once. This theater is set up as an open stage, meaning that the seats for the audience cover each side of the semi-circle stage in three groups. If we split up, our two groups should take the right and middle seats. The police are probably gonna break their way in through the entrance and come in on the left, so they've got that covered."

"They won't go through the sewers?" Zeke asked, almost in envy.

"No," Joe shook his head. "They aren't trying to sneak in here like us. They're here to apprehend so breaking down a few doors and making a lot of noise won't matter. So, let's get into two groups." Suddenly he remembered who was supposed to be in charge here and shot an rueful glance at Head. "Head, do you mind if I—"

"Do as you like," Head said gently. "After all that you've done for us. I trust you."

"Thanks," Joe said. "Hank and Head will lead one group, you guys flank the right side. Zeke, Sam, you pilot the second group. You wait for my signal." The others nodded and started toward the door. Head approached him.

"May I ask which group you'll be in?" Head asked but Joe had the feeling the man already knew the answer.

"I'm going solo," Joe said.

"Be careful," Head cautioned. "I know you want to help your brother but you're no help if you get hurt.

As Hank, Head, Sam, and the other Keepers started to divide themselves and move out, Zeke lingered behind and talked to Joe.

"I knew it," Zeke said, smiling feverishly.

"Knew what?" Joe asked.

"You were _way_ too good at being nosy to be just really nosy!" Zeke exclaimed, almost shouting.

"Yeah, sure, my dad taught my brother and I a few things," Joe said with a shrug. "Big deal." Joe hid his smile and Zeke shook his head laughing.


	8. Chapter 8

"We've been expecting you," Council said, his voice loud and satisfied.

"I've been looking forward to it," Fenton Hardy replied with a stern smile. Frank knew his father had seen him but was trying to hide his surprise and concern. "What's with the kid?"

"Don't try bluffing," Council said, almost edgily. "You can't deny your own son."

Fenton's jaws tightened and he glared at Council, avoiding Frank's stare.

"We're here to take you in, Frederick," Fenton said in a cool tone.

"But I don't want to be taken in, Fenton," Council replied. "Not now that we know each other by our first names! We're just getting to know each other."

"We've got a warrant for your arrest," Fenton said. "Come peacefully and nobody gets hurt. Your choice." Frank felt like he wanted to disappear. His father was doing his best to deal with Council but worst comes to worst; Council will get his way with Frank there.

"No," Council said. "You're the one who's got a choice. But first, get these other bureaucrats out of here."

"I can't do that," Fenton replied. "I'm not authorized."

"Well," Council said. "In that case, I'm not authorized to do this!" He nodded at two of the Trumps behind him. Frank felt himself lifted onto his feet and out of nowhere, Council had a knife in hand and was pressing the blade against Frank's neck, his arm around the young Hardy's chest and shoulders. The young Hardy couldn't suppress a grunt of pain and he could see his father tense.

"Don't make things worse for yourself, Frederick!" Fenton warned, who had pulled out his firearm the moment Council had the blade in his hand.

"He's right," Frank whispered, wincing as the blade dug into his skin. "You won't get out of here alive. There are armed police around the building, inside and out."

"No one's asking you, kid," Council spat back at him.

"Frank, let me handle this," Fenton called, seeing his son attempting to reason with the man who held him. You don't want to push him too far, Fenton thought with great concern.

"Listen to your father," Council hissed.

"Ever consider plea bargain?" Frank asked, panting out of nervousness. He could feel his heart beating fast and hard against his chest as if trying to get out.

"Frank," Fenton cautioned.

"My dad knows a lot of good lawyers," Frank whispered. "He might be able to hook you up with one—" Council pressed the blade into his neck, drawing blood.

"I am not going down without a fight," Council hissed darkly. "Even if that means killing someone!"

"No one needs to get hurt, Frederick," Fenton took steps forward slowly.

"My point exactly," Council yelled. "I want all the cops outta here or I will cut his throat! I mean it!"

"Dad," Frank called out slowly, starting to feel the blade slicing across his skin.

"Okay, okay," Fenton said slowly and looked at the officers around him. With a nod, the officers slowly backed out the way they came.

"Now," Council; Frederick, said. "I want my name cleared, Fenton!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Frederick," Fenton said, still aiming at him. "You can't ask for the impossible."

"Nothing's impossible," Frederick yelled back. Frank saw a flash of steel as the man cut his cheek and he cried out, biting his lip hard afterwards to redirect the pain and not alarm his dad too much.

"No!" Fenton screamed. "He's just a boy. Touch him again and I swear I'm gonna shoot."

"How's your aim, Fenton?" Frederick laughed, pulling Frank closer to cover himself. "Take your best shot!"

Fenton pulled the hammer back and gritted his teeth but didn't fire.

"Didn't think so," Frederick breathed into Frank's ear. The young Hardy felt himself shudder and he tried to pull away but Frederick kept a tight lock on him. As Fenton advanced slowly, Frederick stepped back little by little, pulling Frank with him.

Suddenly a troop of armed men fully dressed with flak jackets and helmets stormed the room.

"No! I told you to wait outside!" Fenton screamed, his gun lowering as he shouted but his eyes on Frank and Frederick. "Stand down! Hostage situation!" But the men weren't listening. Quickly they rounded up the Trumps, who held their hands up calmly. Confusion and question struck Fenton Hardy. The Trumps are giving in, he thought. They never do.

"Stand down!" Fenton cried out, turning to one of the men angrily. "Take a team and search the building. There's something wrong. They're giving in too easily—" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Trumps armed with blackjacks, clubs, and bats swarmed in.

"Nobody moves!" Fenton screamed at the top of his lungs, aiming his gun at the armed Trumps along with the other officers. "Anyone try anything and we will shoot to kill!" He looked in the direction of Frederick but both his son and the gang leader had disappeared. He rushed onto the stage and grabbed the Trump nearest to him.

"Where did they go?" He asked between clenched teeth. The trembling young Trump pointed toward a dark corridor and Fenton hurried down the hall. He came to a door marked with an Exit sign and pushed it open hastily.

He rushed out into the early morning mist, his gun flailing at his side. He was in time to see Frank pushed into an unmarked sedan van and Frederick following him inside. Aiming at the car tires, Fenton fired thrice and watch the sedan van crash headlong into a nearby large dumpster.

Frank, Fenton thought. He saw the van's side door slide open and a figure stumbled out, coughing.

"Dad?" Frank's voice called out and he emerged from the smoke coming from the van engine.

"Frank," Fenton breathed with tremendous relief and rushed to his son. Frank let the tears run down his cheeks with solace at the sight of his father. Fenton grabbed him by the shoulders gently. "Are you okay?"

"We crashed... They're just scratches but something hit my arm—I think my it's broken," Frank said slowly, his right arm limp. "It hurts to move it."

"Can you manage?"

"Yeah, I think so. Dad, Frederick is still in the van—" Frank started.

"That doesn't matter," Fenton said, embracing his son but carefully avoiding his arm. "The cut on your cheek looks bad, Frank. Are you okay?" The father asked for the second time.

"No, I'm okay, dad," Frank whispered slowly, finally letting go. He wiped away the tears with his good hand, laughed to relax them both, and then grew somber. Fenton missed the hesitation in Frank's answer blinded by his relief and happiness. "Do you know where Joe is?"

"I thought he was with you?" Fenton replied.

"They said I was the only one at home," Frank told him, wincing a little because of his broken arm. He shifted his left leg discreetly, trying to hide its cut. "They don't know where Joe is either. I figured he must have gone somewhere before they got to our house."

"Don't worry, we'll find him."

"Dad, Frederick," Frank reminded gently.

"Okay," Fenton said. "I want you wait here." He turned around and started toward the van with his gun drawn. Frank stood in silence and exhaustion, holding his right arm to his chest and grimacing but apparently relieved. As Fenton got to the open van door he heard moaning. Carefully he looked in and saw Frederick half-conscious on the floor of the van covered in bruises with blood running down his face from a graze on his head. He peered into the driver's seat and saw a man in the same state; the passenger seat was empty.

"Dad!" Frank called from where he stood and Fenton went back to him. "Are they—?"

"They'll live," Fenton said.

"Oh," Frank breathed, not knowing what to feel at that moment.

"Why are your pants soaked?" Fenton asked.

"What?" Frank looked down at his left leg and saw that it was wet. The Hardy gritted his teeth, thinking furiously of an excuse and found one. "When I was brought here, we took a sewer entrance. It must've gotten wet there somehow."

"Wouldn't the other leg be wet too?" Fenton said. "Well, that doesn't matter."

"What should we do?" Frank asked, hiding his relief.

"I've already called for backup," Fenton replied. As he did, officers were arriving at the scene. "C'mon, let's go inside." Frank nodded and noticed the sun starting to appear on the horizon as he slowly ripped off the remaining tape off his wrists.


	9. Chapter 9

"Joe!" Hank hissed. Joe spun about and sighed in relief.

"Hank, don't scare me like that," Joe said. "What is it?"

"We've found a back exit," Hank said. "I think we should leave now."

"Yeah, but what about the plan?" Joe asked.

"Joe, I'll stay with you if you like but I'm responsible for all the Keepers. We need to get them out of here." Hank said.

"I'm sorry for being so selfish," Joe said, shaking his head and smiling at him. "Of course, you can go if you want. But I need to stay and help my brother."

"I understand and respect that," Hank said. "I'd do the same for Head."

"Thanks," Joe said. "And you don't have to stay. Go help Head, I'll be fine. Take these other Keepers with you."

"I'm staying," Zeke said resolutely after overhearing their conversation. Joe and Hank nodded understandingly. As Hank gathered the Keepers and headed back the way he came, Joe and Zeke looked at each other.

"Back to square one," Zeke said with a laugh. "Guess I'm stuck with you again, huh?"

"Nah," Joe answered back. "You're just really good at sticking to people who are good at nosing around." The two walked down several corridors and found one that led to the audience seats. From where they stood, they saw Trumps mingling amongst themselves and on the stage was Council and Frank. Joe looked closer and saw that his brother was exchanging words with the man in the chair. There was a sudden outburst when a group of officers crashed open one of the boarded up doorways and swooped in shouting and waving their firearms. The Trumps didn't seem to be slightly surprised and held their hands up, letting the police round them up into a tight ball. In the middle of the ruckus, Joe saw Fenton Hardy walking up and confronting Council.

"That's my dad," Joe told Zeke, who nodded.

"What should we do?" Zeke asked him. "There are only two of us. Maybe your dad and the police will get everything settled and even get your brother free."

"Maybe," Joe said hopefully. "Let's go talk to my dad." The two took a few steps toward the center of the theater room to Fenton Hardy when even more police suddenly barged in, dressed defensively and waving about their firearms. Along with them Trumps swarmed the room and it was chaos. The two were caught in the middle of the flurry. Joe immediately went defensive, dodging clubs, ignoring the screams of the police, and keeping Zeke close at the same time.

"Your dad ran off, Joe!" Zeke screamed above the turmoil. Joe heard and looked around for his father and couldn't find him.

"C'mon!" Joe said, pulling Zeke by the arm and leading the way out of the crowd of fighting police and Trumps.

They made their way to where Fenton Hardy stood a few minutes earlier.

"Did you see which way he went?" Joe asked breathlessly.

"No, sorry," Zeke said, panting. "I kept my eye on him the best I could. I looked away for one sec coz' this guy was gonna club me and when I looked back he was gone!"

"Okay," Joe said. "There's only one way out right?"

"Backstage?" Zeke guessed and then smiled when Joe nodded. But before they could do anything, Fenton walked in followed by Frank, to Joe's relief.

"Frank! Dad!" a voice exclaimed as Frank and Fenton walked back into the theater.

"Joe!" Frank exclaimed, seeing his brother and another youth running up to them.

"Where have you been?" Fenton asked in the you're-past-your-curfew sort of way.

"Looking for you," Joe said quickly, not wanting to explain. He kept glancing at his brother in overwhelming relief. Joe slowly walked up to his brother and pulled him into a tight embrace. "I was being stupid!" Joe whispered. "I mean, about the fight—."

"That doesn't matter," Frank said, hugging his brother back. "You don't have to tell me _everything_ that goes on in your life. I was just being an older brother. Besides, we haven't argued like that in months." The two brothers laughed.

"Wait," Joe said somberly. "There _is_ something that I have to tell you, mom, dad, and Aunt Gertrude. You and Aunt Gertrude have been covering up for me without even knowing why or what it is I'm doing. It was wrong for me to have left you in the dark, Frank. I thought I was trying to protect you all and help out other people. See, I joined the Keepers a few months back."

"You're a gang member now?" Frank asked in disbelief.

"The Keepers may be a gang," Fenton cut in. "But it isn't a bad one. They've been helping keep trouble off the streets. They take in young orphans and occasionally, youths who think they can make a difference." He eyed Joe pointedly for a moment.

"I thought I could," Joe admitted, giving them a small smile. "But it only put Frank and you in danger. I'm sorry. I should've told you."

"You're right you should have told us!" Frank said. "Who's your friend?" Joe looked at Zeke and then back at his brother and father.

"This is Zeke," Joe said. "He's the one who came to me for help. The Keepers were attacked at the docks by the Trumps and we helped each other to get them out of here. They must be at the Yard by now."

"The yard?" Fenton asked.  
"It's like a home base," Zeke explained. "I don't usually leave the place but I had to help the only family I've got."

Joe pulled Frank aside.

"His brother got killed in a gunfight, his mom died, and his father is MIA," Joe explained quickly, Frank nodded understandingly.

"So, the Keepers all got out safely?" Fenton asked. Zeke and Joe nodded.

"Thanks to you two," a voice came from behind them. It was Head and Hank.

"I thought you guys left?" Joe asked.

"The others are at the Yard. But Head and I had to come back for you two," Hank said, looking at Zeke and Joe. "No one gets left behind—even if they want to."

"So this must be your father," Head said, extending a hand to Fenton, who took it affably.

"Yeah," Joe nodded. "Dad, this is the leader of the Keepers. We call him Head." Fenton nodded and smiled. "This is Frank, my brother." He continued. Frank nodded in acknowledgement.

"Yes," Head nodded. "I'm glad to see that you're not terribly scathed. Your brother was worried."

"Thank you," Frank said, glancing at his arm and biting his lip a little. "I guess it could've been a lot worse, huh?"

"Dad, where's Council?" Joe asked his father suddenly.

"He ran into some trouble when trying to get away. He's in the alley half-conscious. The police are already rounding him and the others up." Fenton said.

"The others?" Zeke asked, looking at the Trumps still in the theater.

"Yeah," Fenton said. "All of them are going to be taken in for awhile. Juvi maybe but not for long; maybe a couple of months of so in there would do them all some good."

"What are the charges?" Hank asked.

"Assaulting police officers, accomplices in the smuggling, pushing, and using of drugs and other illegal goods," Fenton answered him.

"Blah blah," Joe laughed. "I'm just glad it's all over and that no one's seriously hurt."

"It's a waste of time if you'll ask me," Frank said seriously. "In those months, they could be doing so much more with their lives."

The other five nodded in quiet agreement.


	10. Chapter 10

"It's not over yet!" a voice shouted from behind them. Zeke, Hank, Head, and the Hardys spun around to see Roger with a gun aimed at them. Some of the police officers immediately drew their own weapons and trained it on the youth.

"Put the gun down, son!" one of them yelled.

"I thought they were all disarmed?!" another screamed.

"I thought so too," Fenton mumbled, carefully stepping in front of his sons and pushing Hank, Head, and Zeke behind him as well.

"What are you doing, Roger?" Frank asked, stepping out from behind Fenton.

"You know him?" Joe whispered. Frank didn't reply, keeping his eyes on the gun.

"Frederick's kid," Fenton answered for him.

"You mean, Council?" Joe asked. "Well, like father like son…" He snorted.

"This wasn't how things were supposed to happen!" Roger screamed in rage, the gun wavering in his hand as he pulled the hammer back. The police took steps toward him. "Don't come any closer or I will shoot!"

"Roger, calm down," Fenton coaxed but that seemed to only agitate the youth.

"The whole point of this is so that my dad won't go to jail," Roger yelled. "You ruined everything!" Before anyone could move there was a loud gun blast. A split second after the discharge, Frank let out a shout and was whirled about by the impact of the bullet.

"Frank!" Joe breathed and ran to his brother's side. The police immediately ran over to a dumbfounded Roger, confiscated the gun and cuffed him.

"I—I wasn't going to actually shoot anyone!" Roger stammered, staring at the blood oozing down Frank's shirt as they dragged him into a police van separate from the other Trumps. "It all just happened so fast! I swear, I didn't mean it!"

"Oh my God, Frank," Joe gasped. He got to his knees and placed Frank's head comfortably on his lap. The bullet had burrowed itself into Frank's chest. "Dad! Someone call an ambulance!" Joe felt the world around him slowing as he watched his brother's struggles for breath.

"Joe, I can't breathe," Frank gasped. Joe applied pressure to where the bullet had entered Frank's body. "My lung, I think…" The older Hardy wheezed.

"It's okay," Joe coaxed. "They're getting help. You'll be fine. You know I have to do this."

"Pressure," Frank nodded and gulped, wincing.

"I didn't think it'd come down to this," Joe wailed, gritting his teeth angrily.

"So this is what it's like to get shot," Frank tried to smile. Fenton Hardy came running over with two paramedics.

"Sir, excuse me, but you have to let go now. We'll take it from here," one of the paramedics told Joe, who nodded and stood up, stepping away from Frank. He watched as they lifted his injured brother onto a stretcher and rolled him away.

"C'mon, we can ride with him in the ambulance," Fenton said, as coolly as he could. Joe looked at him strangely.

"Dad," Joe asked. "How could you be so calm? Frank's seriously hurt!"

"I'm not being insensitive, Joe," Fenton said. "Just think, would Frank want the both of us in hysterics? For his sake, we should stay calm and hope." Joe could see his father's eyes were wet and he headed outside to the ambulance without argument.

Dr. Arnold took off his glasses and beckoned for Fenton and Joe Hardy.

"He's sleeping peacefully now," he said. Through the blinds, Joe and his father could see Frank lying in bed, apparently in a deep sleep, but his face had a waxen pallor.

"He should awaken in a day or two. The bullet went pretty deep and it will affect a lot of his movement, even in his shoulder. We were lucky he didn't lose too much blood. It was a complex operation. His arm is fine though. We were lucky he's healthy and fit. No worries, with a boy like him, he'll pull through."

"So, when can we see him?" Joe asked anxiously. The doctor nodded understandingly.

"You can see him now but he won't respond to anything just yet," the doctor explained. Joe and Fenton walked into the rather spacious hospital room, walking carefully despite the doctor's heed.

"Dad," Joe said. "I don't know what to feel right now. All I know is I need him to be alright again."

"Me too, Joe," Fenton replied, watching quietly as the covers of Frank's bed moved up and down as he slept. "He will be. When he does, everything will go back to normal."

"I hope so," Joe said. "Mom and Aunt Gertrude are flying here now right?"

Fenton nodded. "They'll be here by tomorrow."

"I shouldn't have left him—"

"Joe, this isn't the time and place," Fenton interrupted. "There was nothing you could've done to prevent this."

"Dad," Joe argued. "I can't—Denial is... If I hadn't been roughing up the Trumps at school as one of the Keepers, maybe Frank wouldn't have to get pulled into this!"

"No," Fenton insisted. "He was only using your brother to get to me. It was his only way to make sure I don't stay on his tail."

"I messed up, dad," Joe sobbed, walking over to his brother's side and leaning on the bed for support. "Big time. I just hope he gets better soon. We got into a big fight last night before I left for the theater downtown. He was wondering why I letting my grades down so much and why I was getting into so much trouble. You know, he's been covering up for me for so long without really knowing anything about what I'm doing. I just couldn't tell him!"

"Why not?" Fenton asked. "He's your brother. Of all people, you should know to trust him."

"He wouldn't understand what I was doing," Joe replied, shaking his head.

"You never even gave him that chance," Fenton said quietly, placing a hand on Joe's shoulder.


	11. Chapter 11

Two days after the ordeal with the Trumps, Fenton and Joe were driving home from the hospital with Frank in the back seat with his arm in a sling.

"You know how veterans like to swap war stories around the campfire and show-off the scars they got?" Frank asked as they drove.

"Yeah, why?" Joe asked, looking out the passenger seat window.

"Well, they seem to forget to mention how much it hurts!" Frank laughed.

"Let's just hope that's the first and the last," Fenton said with a smile, glad that Frank was okay.

"You can say that again," Joe said as they finally arrived home. Joe helped his brother out of the car as Fenton got Frank's stuff from the trunk and carried them into the house.

"Frank!" Aunt Gertrude and Mrs. Hardy cried in unison as they saw the two brothers enter the house. The two women greeted them both, hugged Frank affectionately and asked him all sorts of questions.

"Are you alright?"

"Did you eat well at the hospital?"

"What would you want for dinner?"

"How's your chest?

"—and your shoulder?"

"Joe, go ready the table!"

"Do you need more rest, Frank?" Aunt Gertrude asked him. Frank shook his head, smiling comfortably.

"I've had enough of that at the hospital for the past three days. I'm okay; I think I'll be in the living room for awhile. Thanks, Aunt Gertrude. Thanks, mom." Frank said, making his way to the living room and settling down into the sofa. His father had followed him into the room and sat down across from him.

"How do you feel?" Fenton said. Frank sighed, trying to hide the way all the questions were aggravating him.

"I'm fine, dad," he replied, adjusting his broken arm a little as he did so.

"Roger is—"

"Dad," Frank interrupted. "I'm sorry; I don't really want to talk about it." Fenton nodded understandingly. "I'm just glad to be home again."

"It's good to have you back," Fenton said.

"I should call Callie..." Frank mumbled.

"You should. She's been worried about you." Fenton said. Frank nodded and sighed.

"Well, I better go upstairs. I need to unpack. Get my stuff ready for tomorrow." Frank started to get up.

"I told your school you won't be attending classes until next week." Fenton told him. Frank froze and felt annoyance toward his father for the first time.

"Why would you do that?" he asked edgily.

"You need time to adjust," Fenton reasoned. "You just got back from the hospital."

"C'mon dad," Frank replied, forcing a laugh. "It's just a broken arm."

"It's not that," Fenton said. "You know, things like these can affect a person's mental health as well as their physical—"

"Like I told mom and Aunt Gertrude, I'm fine!" Frank said exasperatingly. "I mean, I appreciate the concern dad, but I'm okay. I don't care about anything you told the school, I'm going tomorrow." He didn't wait for a reply and stormed upstairs, bumping into Joe on the way out of the living room.

"Is something wrong?" Joe asked his father, seeing the grim look on his face and after seeing how frustrated his brother was.

"He wants to resume classes tomorrow but he's not ready yet," Fenton said, shaking his head.

"But he's okay isn't he? I mean, its okay for him to go," Joe said. "It's just his arm—"

"No, it's not," Fenton said, standing up. "You don't understand, Joe. Your brother still needs time. You can't just break your arm, get shot in the chest, then go to school two days later as if nothing had happened!" His father grunted angrily, balling his fists. "He's stubborn and I don't know how I'm going to talk him out of going."

"You know Frank, dad," Joe reasoned, hoping to calm his father down. "Maybe he wants to go so he can get his mind off of the whole ordeal. You know how he is, always needs something for his mind to chew on." Fenton looked at him for a moment then turned and walked out of the room without a word.

Frank stood by his bed, staring down at his feet in deep thought. _I shouldn't have stormed out like that. Dad was just worried... and I think I know why..._ He held up his good hand and bit his lip as he watched it trembling unwillingly. _I don't know if I can make it..._

"Frank," Joe entered the room, interrupting his thoughts. He watched his brother sit on his bed slowly. "How're you feeling?"

Though Frank openly expressed his annoyance to his father, something in him made him spare his brother the antagonism.

"All of you keep asking me that, honestly, I'm fine," Frank replied calmly. He threw himself onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling. "It feels like I haven't been home for years." He laughed, trying to break the silence in the room but his brother remained silent.

"Yeah, it does actually," Joe said seriously. "So are you coming to school tomorrow?" He asked as tenderly as he could, not wanting to anger his brother.

"Yeah," Frank replied still looking at the ceiling with no particular interest. "What have I missed?" He asked no one in particular but Joe laughed.

"I can't imagine you missing anything you don't already know," Joe said. Frank laughed in response and sat up, this time looking out the window. There was another uncomfortable silence between the two brothers.

"Frank, you know, dad said—"Joe started.

"I know what he said Joe," Frank interrupted as he stood up to face Joe on the bed. "He says I'm not ready yet."

"Do you know what he meant by it?" Joe asked.

"Frankly, I don't really care," Frank replied with shrug. "I'm going whether he likes it or not. Besides, what's the big deal?"

"You just said you didn't care," Joe said.

"Well, yeah, whatever," Frank muttered, turning to the window again.

"Maybe you should—"

"Yeah, maybe I should go to school tomorrow like all eighteen-year-olds like me should," Frank interrupted again. "It's a broken arm! Geez, what's the worst that can happen?"

"I don't know, Frank. You know dad, maybe he's right," Joe said.

"You too, Joe?" Frank asked in disbelief. "I mean, I thought you'd understand. But you know what, who cares about what dad and you think? I'm going."

"Frank—"

"Case closed, Joe," Frank said firmly, facing his brother. Joe looked at the floor as Frank glanced at his watch. "I'm going out for a jog. Tell mom I'll be home by dinner." Joe looked at his brother again with concern.

"A jog? I should go with you," Joe said.

"No," Frank said tersely, putting his running shoes on and changing his shirt with effort. "A broken arm isn't going to stop me from doing what I want. Besides, I don't want you—"

"No, it's okay, I understand," Joe mumbled quickly and walked out the door.

"Joe, wait," Frank stared after his brother regretfully and sighed heavily. Then the older brother hurried downstairs and sprinted out the front door without another word.


	12. Chapter 12

As far as the Hardy could tell, there weren't any people around as he jogged down Ever Grande Street and turned the corner. He felt a chill as a breeze swept through him and he felt dry leaves brushing against his legs, cackling as they skid across the cement. Suddenly he missed his brother and felt guilty about his father. He felt himself breathing harder and he slowed his pace slightly. _What am I doing?_ Frank asked himself as he jogged down the third street. He felt himself straying farther and farther away from home. _Maybe I should join a gang and learn a thing or two_. He thought to himself grimly. _Am I doing something wrong?_ _And what's with dad? What's the big deal? I go to Bayport High everyday for the past years and now he doesn't want me to because of a broken arm?_ He coughed unexpectedly and slowed to a stop, placing his hands on his knees for support to steady his breathing. _Roger. Did Roger really deserve that prison sentence?_ _It was my fault he's in jail?_ He coughed again, louder and more severe this time and he swallowed painfully. _I should head home now._ He glanced at his watch and read five until five o'clock. _It's getting dark too, they might get worried._ He resumed running back to their street but much slower than when he first left the house. The lights bordering the street seemed to dance before his eyes and Frank stopped, panting heavily and shut his eyes in faintness.

"What's going on?" Frank breathed out loud for some reason. He felt the air slowly escaping his lungs and everything seemed to be closing in on him. His feet grew heavier and before he knew it he was on his knees. He pushed against the cement with his one good hand to keep himself up but he lost his balance and fell onto his back wheezing soundlessly. His eyes looked about frantically, searching for someone, anyone for help.

"Help," He wheezed but only air came out; air that he needed and didn't have. "I can't breathe! Somebody, please!" Exhaustion and breathlessness overwhelmed him and Frank surrendered to the darkness.

"Okay, thank you, we really appreciate everything you've done. We'll be right over," Fenton Hardy hung up, his face distraught. Aunt Gertrude, Mrs. Hardy and Joe looked at him worriedly.

"They found him dad?" Joe asked anxiously. After Frank hadn't returned from his jog, the Hardys had grown restless, their dinner still untouched on the table. It had been three hours past the time Frank had promised. Three hours the Hardys fretted, calling everyone they knew.

"The Carsons have him right now," Fenton said. "We can walk over there; it's only three blocks away."

"Is he okay?" Aunt Gertrude asked as they all filed out the door.

"They didn't say," Fenton replied.

"You didn't ask," Mrs. Hardy said, upset. Fenton remained silent and led the way to Perpetfine Street where the Carsons resided. Upon arriving at the home, the Hardys were welcomed graciously and with worried faces as well. They were led to living room where they saw Frank sitting at one of the sofas, slightly pale but seemingly well.

"Frank!" Aunt Gertrude shrieked and immediately rushed to him after Mrs. Hardy.

"Frank, what happened?" Joe asked, standing close to his brother. Frank didn't look at his father and brother almost purposely.

"I must've passed out that's all," Frank answered him, still staring at the glass of water he'd been given earlier by Mrs. Carson. Fenton was busy discussing with the Carsons, thanked them, and turned to the others.

"C'mon, we can talk when we get home," he said gravely. Frank pulled away gently from the two women and followed his father, thanking the Carsons as he did.

"What happened, Frank?" Fenton asked his son edgily.

"I told you, I passed out," Frank replied.

"Luckily the Carsons found you," Mrs. Hardy clucked worriedly.

"Well, he was kinda hard to miss, him passing out on in front of their house and everything." Joe joked. Nobody laughed and he became silent and slightly guilty for being over-relieved and expressing his relief through a lame joke.

"I'll go get the table ready again," Aunt Gertrude said.

"Let me help," Mrs. Hardy said. "I'm sure you boys can deal with things without us, hmm?"

Joe nodded for the three of them and the ladies left the living room.

"This is why I don't want you going to school tomorrow!" Fenton said angrily.

"I didn't do anything wrong!" Frank cried.

"Both of you, calm down," Joe coaxed.

"Something happened back at the theater," Fenton said through clenched teeth. "and you lied to me, Frank!"

"What?" Joe said, confused. "What are you talking about, dad?"

"That getaway van," Fenton explained heatedly. "It crashed into a dumpster nearby."

"So?" Joe said, looking at his brother and then at his father expectantly.

"When the police recovered the two men inside it, including Frederick Wesley," Fenton continued. "They also found a large amount of illegal drugs in the van. Along with the drugs, they found some prohibited chemicals."

"What does that have anything to do with Frank?"

"Frank, what happened in the van before the crash?" Fenton asked Frank, ignoring Joe's question completely.

"Nothing—" Frank said.

"Don't lie to me, Frank," Fenton gritted his teeth. "We need to know, so that we can fix it before it worsens." Frank looked at his brother and father hesitantly, biting his lip.

"I'm not even really sure," Frank mumbled.

"Whatever it is," Fenton said. "No matter how small the detail, you have to let me know and now."

"Like I said, nothing happened before the crash," Frank said angrily and Fenton opened his mouth to speak but Frank went on. "It was during the crash."

"What?" Joe was still confused. "The van crashed into a dumpster with Frank, Council, and illegal drugs and chemicals in it?" Fenton nodded and then turned to Frank expectantly.

"When the van crashed, the chemicals were in small glass cylinders. Something pricked the back of my leg as I fell forward onto the floor of the van, I don't know, maybe broken glass. I must've passed out for a moment but I heard dad's voice so I got up and out."

"That's also why only one leg of your pants was wet," Fenton said. "You lied to me, Frank."

"I didn't think it'd be important!" Frank retorted.

"Not important?" Fenton shouted at him. "How can it not be important? A van full of chemicals? You don't know what those things can do if you get it in your system! And you should've known better than to withhold information that may be valuable. I taught you better!"

"Fine!" Frank cried back. "It was stupid! I wasn't thinking straight! But this isn't just another one of your cases!" Fenton didn't reply, looking at his son with mixed emotion.

"Dad," Joe said. "So those chemicals.... they're making Frank sick?" Frank snorted and shook his head with his hands crossed.

"I don't see how," Frank said angrily.

"But your jog—" Joe started.

"It was chilly. I got a little woozy, big deal," Frank said.

"No, Joe's right, Frank," Fenton said. "I had the spilt liquid on your shirt and pants analyzed. So far they don't know the full extent of its effects. But they found many elements that stimulate aggression, respiratory problems, depression—"

"I have to go," Frank blurted out and rushed upstairs hurriedly.

"Frank—" Joe called as he left but Fenton stopped him.

"It's alright, let him go," Fenton said, sighing heavily and sitting down on the sofa.

"He's going to be alright, right Dad?" Joe asked, sitting down across from his dad and leaning forward anxiously. "I mean, it's nothing serious."

"I—" Fenton paused and shook his head. "I really don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? You knew about _this_ all this time! When were you going to tell us about this, huh, dad?" Joe asked, starting to fume. "Are you worried about him or more worried that whatever disease he has might be contagious?"

"Joe!" Fenton hissed. "You know me better than that. Of course, I'm worried about Frank." Joe sighed and put his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees, shaking his head.

Mrs. Hardy walked in.

"Dinner's ready," she announced, looking around at the two of them. "Where's Frank?"

"He's upstairs," Joe answered before his father could. "I'll go call him." Fenton sighed again and then followed Laura into the dining room. As Joe made his way upstairs to their room, he felt a sudden emptiness, as if a part of him had vanished.

"Frank?" he swung open the door to their bedroom and found it empty, save Frank's unpacked bags. He had brought up three and now there was only two. He felt panic filling his mind and he searched his parent's room, his aunt's, and the attic. The young Hardy rushed down to where his parents and aunt were seated around the table.

"Mom, dad! He's gone!" a pale Joe exclaimed as he ran into the room.

* * *

Mwahaha! j/k. tBc!


	13. Chapter 13

Frank sprinted away from home breathlessly. Climbing out their bedroom window with only one good arm was not easy and he congratulated himself quietly. But it was rash and impulsive, much like something Joe would have done. He wanted to cry out and let out his anger toward his father and the stupid sickness he'd been going on about earlier, his hatred for Head and the Trumps. What he found almost hard to believe at first was that he was angriest at himself and he didn't know why exactly. A part of him seemed to linger behind at his every move, as if wanting to go back and just think about everything that's been happening. That same part was afraid. Afraid that his dad was right and that what had happened on his earlier jog might recur and the next time might be worse than the first.

Biting his lip hard, he brushed away the thoughts. He concentrated on one name and that one face. David Gray. He could still see Council in his mind, holding up the syringe menacingly and glaring at him. He mentioned David Gray as their supplier and their boss. Frank's intake of the chemical was not an accident. Council had done it. Frank felt angry at himself, wondering why he had to lie about it in the first place. He had to find David Gray and find out what it is that's wrong with him. Frank felt his one good hand trembling unusually and he quickly stuffed them into his pockets and slowed to a walk. Then he heard footsteps coming up behind him quickly. He threw a glance over his shoulder and saw his brother running up to him breathlessly. For a moment he grew taut, uncertain of how to react; not knowing whether he should make a run for it or convince his brother to leave him alone. Without even knowing it, he stopped and faced his brother.

"Frank—Frank—thank God I found you," Joe said, panting and walking up to his brother. "Why'd you leave like that? Mom and Aunt Gertrude are scared out of their minds and Dad's pretty upset."

"Upset meaning infuriated," Frank retorted. "Joe, I can't go back right now. You have to give me some time and space."

"What?" Joe asked.

"I have to find someone. I need to get to the bottom of this," Frank explained.

"Frank, we all do too. Dad and I can help you," Joe said.

"I don't need your help," Frank said.

"But Frank—you're not," Joe began.

"Joe, I didn't want you to come because I knew this is exactly what you'd be doing!" Frank said to him. "If you want to help someone, you don't go about telling them what they are and what they aren't!"

"Frank, I'm just worried you might hurt yourself," Joe said quietly. Frank felt uneasy and he found himself trying to control a temper he never had to before. "Something's got your aggression snowballing and you're just not in the right state of mind!"

"Please, Joe, just cut me some slack," Frank said. "Just this once! I need to just.... think."

"You can do that home, can't you? You don't have to leave!" Joe insisted. "I mean, what can you do out there that you can't do here with me and dad? Huh?"

"Joe, for the last time," Frank said through gritted teeth. "I don't need help." With that, he turned his back on his brother and started to walk away.

"Frank wait," Joe said gently, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. Almost subconsciously, the Hardy whipped about, grabbed Joe's arm, used his body for leverage, lifted his brother off his feet, on Frank's back over Frank's head and onto on the ground. Although he had used only his one good hand, the older Hardy was fast and agile and he had caught Joe by surprise.

Joe, now face-down on the ground, had had the breath knocked out of him and he groaned. Frank looked at what he'd done to his brother and found himself breathing furiously. Then realizing what he had done, Frank took a step back and closed his eyes in horror.

"Joe, I—I—I'm sorry," Frank stammered and ran off into the night.

"Frank," Joe wheezed as he got onto his knees and cleared his head. But his brother was already out of earshot and halfway out of their subdivision.

I know, short but hopefully butters up the story a little for later!

**Tifal55 – **thanks for taking the time! I understand, school's just started for me so I might get a bit busy too BUT I will try to keep this story as updated as possible. Happy reading and writing!


	14. Chapter 14

Frank peered into his wallet. _Empty,_ Frank thought. _Great, this is just what I need._ He coughed again but in a more controlled manner than the day before, though, the blood still came. He wiped his mouth unconsciously with the back of his hand and resumed walking to the phone booth. It had been minutes ago that he was walking down the very street with his brother and he struggled to keep Joe out of his mind as he concentrated on where he might find David Gray. _The name sounds so familiar,_ Frank thought. _Where have I heard it before?_ He bit his lip as if hoping a little more pain would help him remember.

As he walked down one of Bayport's downtown streets, he spotted a half-empty bar and ducked into it. Most of the tables were occupied; waiters, waitresses, and cooks all sitting about relaxing. Frank figured they weren't expecting anyone this early in the afternoon and he strode over to the phone booth. It was empty and he stepped in, asking an apron-lady nearby for the phone book. She returned a few minutes later with the book he requested and he thanked her.

_Let's see… Gray… Gray…_ Frank thought as his fingers swiftly flipped through the pages and traced down column after column of names. There was Gray, Daniel; Gray, Donald; Gray, Doug. Frank bit his fist in defeat and stared at the yellow pages in deep thought.

_Who is this guy? Maybe _David Gray _is just an alias…_ He sighed and leaning on the phone box, put his head in his arms. _Where… Maybe I should ask around… But that could be suicide. If this man is really in league with those gangsters then he's probably got enemies and spies all over the place who'll do me in for just saying his name_.

Finally, Frank straightened up and exited the booth. He handed the lady the book back and thanked her.

"Find who you were looking for?" she asked him with an inquisitive smile. Frank hesitated and then shook his head.

"Actually, no," Frank said, returning the smile and scratching his head shyly.

"Well, who is it then? Maybe I know him—or her— 'coz I've been around these parts all my life and I've met all sorts of people going in and outta here," She nodded as-a-matter-a-factly and grinned at him. She waited.

"Well, uh, I'm not even sure if he's from around Bayport. I've never actually met him," Frank explained slowly, not really sure if he should be consulting the woman about his search.

"Shoot," she said.

"Okay, so, have you heard of anyone named David Gray?" Frank asked pausing before the name. He saw the woman eye him strangely and then she looked around. Frank followed her gaze and hid his uneasiness; all eyes in the room were on him and none of them looked too friendly. He shifted his eyes to the woman again, pleading for help. She was looking at him, nodding, and then jerked her head for him to follow her.

* * *

The front door swung open and Fenton Hardy walked in, briefcase in one hand and coat hanging over the opposite arm.

"Hey, dear," Mrs. Hardy greeted, pecking him on the cheek. Leaning closer to his ear, she whispered, "Joe's in his room. He hasn't left it since he got home from school. Maybe you should talk to him. I'm pretty sure it's about his brother and he's not telling us something."

Fenton squeezed her affectionately and reassuringly. "I'll talk to him but I can't promise anything. Joe will do whatever it is he wants and we won't be able to stop him."

"Like what Frank did?" Mrs. Hardy pointed out, raising an eyebrow as she shook her head. "Just talk to him, okay?"

"I said I would," Fenton nodded and then let her go. She walked back into the kitchen to talk to Aunt Gertrude while Fenton hung his coat, set down his briefcase, and made his way to the boys' room.

There was a knock on the door but Joe had a pretty good idea it was his dad that Mrs. Hardy sent up as reinforcements. His mother and aunt had interrogated him the moment he stepped into the house with a frown on his face. He couldn't just tell him that he met his brother on the way home and couldn't convince him to come home and leave that cursed _David Gray_ alone! Joe clenched his fists and gritted his teeth at the name.

"Joe?" his father opened the door a fraction and stepped in. "Your mother wanted me to talk to you about your brother."

"Laura wanted me to talk to you about Frank," Joe rephrased. "Why can't you use names? You're so formal sometimes, dad." Fenton raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

"Okay," Fenton said and walked to where Joe sat on his bed. He noticed the boy's fists were closed and the knuckles were white. There was a long pause and then Fenton said, "You saw Frank didn't you?"

Joe's head jerking up so suddenly was all Fenton needed to see. Joe realized this and then nodded, looking into his lap guiltily.

"Yeah, I saw him on my way back from school," Joe admitted, biting his lip and then looking at his father. "How'd you know?"

"I'm not a detective _and_ your father for nothing, you know," Fenton said and sat down next to his son. "So, what happened between you and your brother?"

"Well, he sounded worse than before… his voice was… weird… different…" Joe trailed off. "He seemed sicker than when he first left the house. He was asking me if I would help him find David Gray."

"David Gray? Who's he?" Fenton asked, his brows furrowed and his eyes boring into Joe's intensely.

"I'm not sure. Frank didn't explain much, all he said was that Council mentioned the name when they were van. Council couldn't have gotten his hands on the drugs and chemicals by himself so Frank figured David Gray must be their supplier," Joe told his father, who listening expressionlessly.

"And Frank wanted to find him?"

"To find Gray, yes."

"Why didn't he tell us—me, about this?"

"He didn't say, dad."

"Why did he lie to us in the first place?"

"Dad…"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry—it's just that it's not like Frank to withhold valuable information like that," Fenton said.

"He's sick, dad. I've never seen him like this so I guess he's probably just as scared as we are. But he's still Frank, through and through no matter how bad it looks on the surface," Joe said. Fenton stared at his son, the blonde head bent and he reached around Joe's shoulders, hugging him.

"Now that we've got a lead," Fenton whispered. "We'll find your—" Joe looked at him and he paused. "We'll find our Frank. You can bet your life on it. We'll find Frank, Joe."

* * *

The woman led him to the back of the café and then out into an empty alleyway. It was narrow and made even narrower by the two large dumpsters on either wall as well as black, bulky trash bags that formed a smelly wall around the dumpsters

"Where are we going—?" Frank began as he followed her out the door. He stopped himself as the woman stood to one side and two young Chinese in black leather jackets stepped from a doorway along the alley, blocking Frank's way. Before he could back away, two more young men appeared behind him. They were all older than Frank, perhaps 20 years old. There was a daring viciousness in their faces as he looked around for a way out, but in the alley all the doors were closed and the windows barred.

The woman was in league with Gray, he realized. Coolly, professionally, she had set up this trap for him. And he, fooled into believing he had the situation under control, blundered right into it on cue. I knew I shouldn't have, Frank thought as he scolded himself. You were playing with fire, Frank, and now you're about to get burned.

"A little bird told us someone was nosing around where he shouldn't have," said one of the leather-jacketed men. There was a click and a flashing arc of silver, and a switchblade appeared, open and ready, in the man's hand.

Frank threw himself into the figure, grabbing his knee. The man's hand flew open, and the knife was thrown across the alley, skittering harmlessly onto the pavement. Frank spun, twisting the man's arm behind his back. He kicked the guy behind his knee. Off-balance the stranger sprawled to the ground. To the other three, Frank said, "Anyone else want to try?"

The man he had knock down was still squeezing his wrist and writhing on the ground. The others looked from him to Frank and back to their friend again. They didn't move, until the woman shouted something in Chinese. The men then charged at Frank. He easily knocked their burly fists aside. But there were three of them. Sooner or later one of their punches would connect. As it was, he felt lucky the men were street hoods and not martial arts masters or boxers. He had met those masters before and can win fairly well, yet these guys were determined. Joe, trained in straightforward fighting style could hold his own against these guys.

As he fended off the men he glanced around. The way to the other end of the alley was clear. All he needed to do was slow them down long enough to make the run. If he reached the street, he'd be safe.

Suddenly, Frank lashed out, catching the nearest man with a hard jab to his jaw. The man fell back; Frank swung his arm, catching a second guy on the ear. The third took a hard clip in the chest from Frank's elbow, and the man howled in pain. Frank spun and ran but then tumbled to the ground. One of the men had recovered and tackled his legs. The two of them lay sprawled on the ground but, unlike Frank, the Chinese was un-dazed. Frank felt himself hauled onto his feet painfully and he shook his head to clear it. Two of the men held his arms while the other pair stood on either side of the woman, who now stepped forward in front of him.

"Who are you?" the woman asked. Frank gritted his teeth and stayed quiet. Then one of the men suddenly lifted his foot and kicked Frank in the ribs. Again and again. Frank groaned and sank to his knees. The two men holding him by the arms pulled him up again. Frank could feel the weight on his chest throbbing and he could sense warm blood streaming down his nose and lip. His vision blurred and he tried to twist away but the men were strong and held him like a vice.

"Who are you?" the woman asked again. Breathing hard, Frank hesitated, and then lifted his head to look at the woman. She was staring at him the same way she had been when they were inside.

"Francis Villeroy," Frank lied. One of the Chinese men holding him quickly delivering a small clout to the side of Frank's head and the boy grunted in pain.

"You're lying," the woman said stonily. Frank wondered how the woman could've known but decided to tell her the truth. It wouldn't do him any good to lie anymore than it did him any worse to tell the truth.

"Frank," he said slowly. He then realized that the Chinese men had grabbed his wrists. He then realized how hard his heart was beating. He then realized that calming himself down should do the trick. He took deep breaths and exhaled a few times. "Frank… Frank Westin." He lied—again. He stole a glance at the two men holding him and saw them nod.

"Well, Mr. Westin… why are you looking for Mr. Gray?" She asked after looking at the two men. Frank coughed a little and looked at her.

"I can't say," Frank finally managed to say. One of the men beside her stepped forward and grabbed Frank by the hair, pulling his head back painfully. Panting, he stifled a scream as the cold edge of a steel blade pressed against his neck. _This is_ _happening_ _to_ _me_ _a_ little _too_ _often_, Frank thought dryly.

"Try saying… for us," the woman said shrilly. "Could you please, Mr. Westin?" The man with the knife pressed it a little harder into Frank's neck and the boy struggled not to swallow.

"I need his help," Frank finally blurted out. There was a pause and then the pressure on his neck disappeared as the Chinese man stepped back beside the woman.

"You need his help?" the woman queried, an eyebrow raised.

"Well," Frank paused. "A friend of mine needs help. He's sick…really sick… and I think maybe David Gray would know how to help him. The doctors aren't doing much and I'm afraid that he'll…"

"A likely story, Mr. Westin," the woman looked at him intently. "Why should we believe you? Why should David Gray bother with the likes of you? He's gotten rid of more important people for less than asking."

"I don't know. But I'll tell you that I'm desperate enough to nearly get killed for asking," Frank said, biting his lip and hoping. There was a long pause and Frank saw the Chinese men were glancing at the woman uneasily. _You guys aren't the only ones,_ Frank thought, feeling the tension pressing down on all of them.

"Very well," the woman suddenly announced; Frank felt the two men holding him jump a little and then regain their composure.

"Very well?" Frank asked hopefully.

"We'll take you to him. I don't know if he'll buy your story but I, myself, don't really know what to make of it," she shrugged. "I suppose he'll help; he's a pretty reasonable person. But if I'm wrong… then I suppose this is the last time anyone will ever see you again." Frank felt a chill run down his spine but he didn't show it.

tbc (I promise :)

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

Frank peered into his wallet. _Empty,_ Frank thought. _Great, this is just what I need._ He coughed again but in a more controlled manner than the day before, though, the blood still came. He wiped his mouth unconsciously with the back of his hand and resumed walking to the phone booth. It had been minutes ago that he was walking down the very street with his brother and he struggled to keep Joe out of his mind as he concentrated on where he might find David Gray. _The name sounds so familiar,_ Frank thought. _Where have I heard it before?_ He bit his lip as if hoping a little more pain would help him remember.

As he walked down one of Bayport's downtown streets, he spotted a half-empty bar and ducked into it. Most of the tables were occupied; waiters, waitresses, and cooks all sitting about relaxing. Frank figured they weren't expecting anyone this early in the afternoon and he strode over to the phone booth. It was empty and he stepped in, asking an apron-lady nearby for the phone book. She returned a few minutes later with the book he requested and he thanked her.

_Let's see… Gray… Gray…_ Frank thought as his fingers swiftly flipped through the pages and traced down column after column of names. There was Gray, Daniel; Gray, Donald; Gray, Doug. Frank bit his fist in defeat and stared at the yellow pages in deep thought.

_Who is this guy? Maybe _David Gray _is just an alias…_ He sighed and leaning on the phone box, put his head in his arms. _Where… Maybe I should ask around… But that could be suicide. If this man is really in league with those gangsters then he's probably got enemies and spies all over the place who'll do me in for just saying his name_.

Finally, Frank straightened up and exited the booth. He handed the lady the book back and thanked her.

"Find who you were looking for?" she asked him with an inquisitive smile. Frank hesitated and then shook his head.

"Actually, no," Frank said, returning the smile and scratching his head shyly.

"Well, who is it then? Maybe I know him—or her— 'coz I've been around these parts all my life and I've met all sorts of people going in and outta here," She nodded as-a-matter-a-factly and grinned at him. She waited.

"Well, uh, I'm not even sure if he's from around Bayport. I've never actually met him," Frank explained slowly, not really sure if he should be consulting the woman about his search.

"Shoot," she said.

"Okay, so, have you heard of anyone named David Gray?" Frank asked pausing before the name. He saw the woman eye him strangely and then she looked around. Frank followed her gaze and hid his uneasiness; all eyes in the room were on him and none of them looked too friendly. He shifted his eyes to the woman again, pleading for help. She was looking at him, nodding, and then jerked her head for him to follow her.

The front door swung open and Fenton Hardy walked in, briefcase in one hand and coat hanging over the opposite arm.

"Hey, dear," Mrs. Hardy greeted, pecking him on the cheek. Leaning closer to his ear, she whispered, "Joe's in his room. He hasn't left it since he got home from school. Maybe you should talk to him. I'm pretty sure it's about his brother and he's not telling us something."

Fenton squeezed her affectionately and reassuringly. "I'll talk to him but I can't promise anything. Joe will do whatever it is he wants and we won't be able to stop him."

"Like what Frank did?" Mrs. Hardy pointed out, raising an eyebrow as she shook her head. "Just talk to him, okay?"

"I said I would," Fenton nodded and then let her go. She walked back into the kitchen to talk to Aunt Gertrude while Fenton hung his coat, set down his briefcase, and made his way to the boys' room.

There was a knock on the door but Joe had a pretty good idea it was his dad that Mrs. Hardy sent up as reinforcements. His mother and aunt had interrogated him the moment he stepped into the house with a frown on his face. He couldn't just tell him that he met his brother on the way home and couldn't convince him to come home and leave that cursed _David Gray_ alone! Joe clenched his fists and gritted his teeth at the name.

"Joe?" his father opened the door a fraction and stepped in. "Your mother wanted me to talk to you about your brother."

"Laura wanted me to talk to you about Frank," Joe rephrased. "Why can't you use names? You're so formal sometimes, dad." Fenton raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

"Okay," Fenton said and walked to where Joe sat on his bed. He noticed the boy's fists were closed and the knuckles were white. There was a long pause and then Fenton said, "You saw Frank didn't you?"

Joe's head jerking up so suddenly was all Fenton needed to see. Joe realized this and then nodded, looking into his lap guiltily.

"Yeah, I saw him on my way back from school," Joe admitted, biting his lip and then looking at his father. "How'd you know?"

"I'm not a detective _and_ your father for nothing, you know," Fenton said and sat down next to his son. "So, what happened between you and your brother?"

"Well, he sounded worse than before… his voice was… weird… different…" Joe trailed off. "He seemed sicker than when he first left the house. He was asking me if I would help him find David Gray."

"David Gray? Who's he?" Fenton asked, his brows furrowed and his eyes boring into Joe's intensely.

"I'm not sure. Frank didn't explain much, all he said was that Council mentioned the name when they were van. Council couldn't have gotten his hands on the drugs and chemicals by himself so Frank figured David Gray must be their supplier," Joe told his father, who listening expressionlessly.

"And Frank wanted to find him?"

"To find Gray, yes."

"Why didn't he tell us—me, about this?"

"He didn't say, dad."

"Why did he lie to us in the first place?"

"Dad…"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry—it's just that it's not like Frank to withhold valuable information like that," Fenton said.

"He's sick, dad. I've never seen him like this so I guess he's probably just as scared as we are. But he's still Frank, through and through no matter how bad it looks on the surface," Joe said. Fenton stared at his son, the blonde head bent and he reached around Joe's shoulders, hugging him.

"Now that we've got a lead," Fenton whispered. "We'll find your—" Joe looked at him and he paused. "We'll find our Frank. You can bet your life on it. We'll find Frank, Joe."

The woman led him to the back of the café and then out into an empty alleyway. It was narrow and made even narrower by the two large dumpsters on either wall as well as black, bulky trash bags that formed a smelly wall around the dumpsters

"Where are we going—?" Frank began as he followed her out the door. He stopped himself as the woman stood to one side and two young Chinese in black leather jackets stepped from a doorway along the alley, blocking Frank's way. Before he could back away, two more young men appeared behind him. They were all older than Frank, perhaps 20 years old. There was a daring viciousness in their faces as he looked around for a way out, but in the alley all the doors were closed and the windows barred.

The woman was in league with Gray, he realized. Coolly, professionally, she had set up this trap for him. And he, fooled into believing he had the situation under control, blundered right into it on cue. I knew I shouldn't have, Frank thought as he scolded himself. You were playing with fire, Frank, and now you're about to get burned.

"A little bird told us someone was nosing around where he shouldn't have," said one of the leather-jacketed men. There was a click and a flashing arc of silver, and a switchblade appeared, open and ready, in the man's hand.

Frank threw himself into the figure, grabbing his knee. The man's hand flew open, and the knife was thrown across the alley, skittering harmlessly onto the pavement. Frank spun, twisting the man's arm behind his back. He kicked the guy behind his knee. Off-balance the stranger sprawled to the ground. To the other three, Frank said, "Anyone else want to try?"

The man he had knock down was still squeezing his wrist and writhing on the ground. The others looked from him to Frank and back to their friend again. They didn't move, until the woman shouted something in Chinese. The men then charged at Frank. He easily knocked their burly fists aside. But there were three of them. Sooner or later one of their punches would connect. As it was, he felt lucky the men were street hoods and not martial arts masters or boxers. He had met those masters before and can win fairly well, yet these guys were determined. Joe, trained in straightforward fighting style could hold his own against these guys.

As he fended off the men he glanced around. The way to the other end of the alley was clear. All he needed to do was slow them down long enough to make the run. If he reached the street, he'd be safe.

Suddenly, Frank lashed out, catching the nearest man with a hard jab to his jaw. The man fell back; Frank swung his arm, catching a second guy on the ear. The third took a hard clip in the chest from Frank's elbow, and the man howled in pain. Frank spun and ran but then tumbled to the ground. One of the men had recovered and tackled his legs. The two of them lay sprawled on the ground but, unlike Frank, the Chinese was un-dazed. Frank felt himself hauled onto his feet painfully and he shook his head to clear it. Two of the men held his arms while the other pair stood on either side of the woman, who now stepped forward in front of him.

"Who are you?" the woman asked. Frank gritted his teeth and stayed quiet. Then one of the men suddenly lifted his foot and kicked Frank in the ribs. Again and again. Frank groaned and sank to his knees. The two men holding him by the arms pulled him up again. Frank could feel the weight on his chest throbbing and he could sense warm blood streaming down his nose and lip. His vision blurred and he tried to twist away but the men were strong and held him like a vice.

"Who are you?" the woman asked again. Breathing hard, Frank hesitated, and then lifted his head to look at the woman. She was staring at him the same way she had been when they were inside.

"Francis Villeroy," Frank lied. One of the Chinese men holding him quickly delivering a small clout to the side of Frank's head and the boy grunted in pain.

"You're lying," the woman said stonily. Frank wondered how the woman could've known but decided to tell her the truth. It wouldn't do him any good to lie anymore than it did him any worse to tell the truth.

"Frank," he said slowly. He then realized that the Chinese men had grabbed his wrists. He then realized how hard his heart was beating. He then realized that calming himself down should do the trick. He took deep breaths and exhaled a few times. "Frank… Frank Westin." He lied—again. He stole a glance at the two men holding him and saw them nod.

"Well, Mr. Westin… why are you looking for Mr. Gray?" She asked after looking at the two men. Frank coughed a little and looked at her.

"I can't say," Frank finally managed to say. One of the men beside her stepped forward and grabbed Frank by the hair, pulling his head back painfully. Panting, he stifled a scream as the cold edge of a steel blade pressed against his neck. _This is_ _happening_ _to_ _me_ _a_ little _too_ _often_, Frank thought dryly.

"Try saying… for us," the woman said shrilly. "Could you please, Mr. Westin?" The man with the knife pressed it a little harder into Frank's neck and the boy struggled not to swallow.

"I need his help," Frank finally blurted out. There was a pause and then the pressure on his neck disappeared as the Chinese man stepped back beside the woman.

"You need his help?" the woman queried, an eyebrow raised.

"Well," Frank paused. "A friend of mine needs help. He's sick…really sick… and I think maybe David Gray would know how to help him. The doctors aren't doing much and I'm afraid that he'll…"

"A likely story, Mr. Westin," the woman looked at him intently. "Why should we believe you? Why should David Gray bother with the likes of you? He's gotten rid of more important people for less than asking."

"I don't know. But I'll tell you that I'm desperate enough to nearly get killed for asking," Frank said, biting his lip and hoping. There was a long pause and Frank saw the Chinese men were glancing at the woman uneasily. _You guys aren't the only ones,_ Frank thought, feeling the tension pressing down on all of them.

"Very well," the woman suddenly announced; Frank felt the two men holding him jump a little and then regain their composure.

"Very well?" Frank asked hopefully.

"We'll take you to him. I don't know if he'll buy your story but I, myself, don't really know what to make of it," she shrugged. "I suppose he'll help; he's a pretty reasonable person. But if I'm wrong… then I suppose this is the last time anyone will ever see you again." Frank felt a chill run down his spine but he didn't show it.


	16. Chapter 16

The bag was lifted from his head and Frank breathed in fresh air gratefully. Before leaving the alley, the four men had put a bag over his head before hustling him into a car. He could hear the woman's voice giving out instructions; she was probably sitting in the passenger's seat. Frank could feel the two men beside him and he could sense the other two sitting across from them. They were in a limousine, he figured.

Now, Frank was in a room. After ushering Frank in and taking the bag off, the men had left through the only door. The room was empty and unfurnished with no windows. The walls were unpainted and the floor, though cemented, was uncarpeted. Frank paced around the room nervously, half-expecting the Chinese men to come back and finish the job they had started in the alley. The door opened and a woman walked in. She was tall, slim—and beautiful. She had the build of a figure skater, fragile and slender but well-muscled. The woman stared at him with bright, green eyes that seemed mesmerizing as it broke down everything it saw into little pieces. Her hair, a shade lighter than the darkest blonde, cascaded from the top of her head to her neck and around her shoulders like a frozen, caramel waterfall. Frank found himself gaping for a split second and quickly straightened himself; luckily, she hadn't seen.

"Frank Westin," she said. Her tone of voice told him she wasn't addressing him and that she had no particular reason for saying his name out loud.

"I thought I was going to see David Gray," Frank said quietly, looking at her with what he hoped to be an expression of indifference. But her reaction surprised him and his eyes narrowed; she laughed. It was a sound that first tickled a person's insides and then chilled them to the bone.

"You aren't the first to think that," she said, smiling. Her teeth bright, white—perfect. Frank could imagine his insides knotting nervously. _The teeth are too perfect. _She's _too perfect. _Frank felt the strangest impulse to give her a nice solid smack in the face… just to dent that _perfect_ air. _She laughed at me?_ Frank thought angrily.

"So, I won't be able to meet him?" Frank asked, puzzled at her behavior.

"Why, Frank, you already have," she said, still smiling that too-perfect-too-white smile. _She could get rich doing toothpaste commercials_, Frank thought, laughing inwardly.

"What?"

"See, David Gray was… an alias… a pseudonym, if you like," she said, the smile transforming into a tight-lipped one.

"So there is no _David Gray_?" Frank asked slowly. She nodded and waited. "And this is the part where you tell me who _you_ are and what part _you _play." He tried to smile at her but he couldn't bring himself to do it. _I could never match hers,_ he thought and laughed again. His smile turned into something of a grimace but if she saw it, the woman didn't mention it.

"My name is Nadine Moore," the woman revealed with a glint of pride in her eyes. "I am scientist, chemist, and doctor all in one. If you don't believe me, that's quite alright. Most _men_ think women could never achieve a status such as mine."

"I believe you," Frank said, nodding nonchalantly. _Scientist, chemist, and doctor all in one?_ Frank thought incredulously. "So, what's your part?"

"Well, I've answered one of your questions," Nadine Moore said glancing at her nails. "Why don't you tell me about yourself?" Frank tensed, hesitating but managed to nod his head.

"As you already know, I'm Frank Westin—" he started but then she cleared her throat as she shook her head.

"We looked you up, Frank," she said as-a-matter-a-factly. "I asked you to tell me about yourself. I was really giving you a chance to actually tell the truth. I know who you really are and you've disappointed me." She paused, her eyes bright but deadly serious. Frank felt his stomach knotting itself tightly out of nervousness. "Normally, client-dishonesty severs any business transactions or links I have with them—"

"Oh, so I'm a client now?" Frank said, crossing arms and leaning against the wall as he tried to calm his nerves and at the same time look composed. "So I'm _not_ Frank Westin. _You're _not David Gray. Hey, the two of them don't exist but admit it or not, we're both playing the same game. So I don't know about your 'client-dishonesty' but maybe you should rewrite your company policy." There was a long uncomfortable silence.

Finally, Moore nodded her head for him to continue.

"Although you say you already know who I am," Frank said. "I'll just state it for the record: my name is Frank Hardy. Yes, my father is the detective you've all heard about but I came here entirely of my own accord. He doesn't even know where I am and I don't want him finding out anytime soon. I'm eighteen-years-old, brunette—blah, blah—point is I'm here to help a friend." She nodded slowly but was silent as if still waiting for him to stay more. The quiet was longer than the first and Frank was the one who broke it this time.

"I really need your help, Dr. Moore…for my friend…" Frank said, struggling to keep the plea from his voice.

"How can I help your friend when I don't even know him or her?" she prompted.

Frank bit his lip and closed his eyes. "Please… I'd rather not tell. He doesn't want to—"

"Alright. I'll help you and your friend." She cut in. He opened his eyes and looked at her in surprise. "And the only reason I'm doing this is… well, you'll find out soon enough. I don't know how much I can help but I reckon you've heard from a lot of people that I will try—as always."

"Thank you," Frank breathed in a sigh of relief. Even the pain in his chest seemed to relax a little. She nodded, turned, knocked on the door, and turned to him again.

"Call me, Nadine," she said, putting out her manicured hand. He stepped forward and shook it firmly. "I have the daughter your age. I'd like for her to meet you." Frank nodded as the door was swung open by a man and then followed her out.

"You can stay here for now," Nadine said, ushering him into a large suite. Frank stopped himself in time from gaping at the size and exquisiteness of the room and its furnishings. The minute he stepped out of the grey room, it was as if he had entered an entirely different world. The hall he stepped into when he exited the room had been carpeted and even through his shoes, Frank could feel how velvety—yet firm—it was. The walls seemed to be decorated with carpet at first but after putting his hand to it, he realized it was just the texture of the delicately painted wallpaper. Along the walls there were paintings, weapons, and the heads of all sorts of game. Nadine and the man led him through hallway after hallway and up and down a few staircases. They had finally stopped in front of a room with large, double doors and brass knobs and entered.

He looked around the room with his hands in his pockets in cool self-control and then turned to her again.

"I'll be staying here?" asked Frank. She nodded.

"Yes," she said. "You are currently in our chateau. Though where on a map exactly, I'm afraid I can't tell you. Oh, and you aren't allowed to leave the premises with or without my permission. My daughter is always here at home and if you like, I can schedule for you to have classes with her—you still go to school don't you?"

"Yeah, yeah," Frank said absentmindedly, not looking at her; mesmerized by the elegant tiling of the ceiling.

"Great, she'll enjoy having someone her age as company," Nadine laughed. "Not to mention an exceptionally good-looking one."

She smiled—a genuine smile this time—her teeth a little less white and a little less perfect. It was a motherly smile, Frank thought. He suddenly found himself thinking about Cordelia and feeling excited at the prospect of meeting her. Nadine Moore was an attractive woman, and though Frank was unaffected by it, the thought of encountering an even younger version of her beauty... _Not the time, Frank,_ Frank scolded himself and then the image of Callie floated into his mind. _Definitely, not the time._

"We'll be having dinner in a few minutes, I'll send someone up to get you," Nadine said, interrupting his thoughts. He nodded and thanked her again. She shook her head smiling. "Don't thank me yet. See you later."

The door was closed and Frank listened for the click of the lock but it didn't come. _Good,_ Frank thought to himself._ So that means they don't really mind me leaving my room, so long as I stay inside the chateau_.


	17. Chapter 17

A few minutes passed since Frank had been left alone in the room, when there was a knock at the door.

"Ms. Moore asked me to come get you, sir," an elderly man in a butler suit bowed slightly when Frank opened the door.

"Please, Frank," the youth said, wincing at being called 'sir.' The butler nodded apologetically with a smile. Frank stepped out, closed the door behind him, and followed the man down a whole different series of halls and stairs. They finally stopped in a large dining hall.

"Frank," Nadine's voice sang. He saw her sitting at the head of the long table and waving for him to sit to her left. He obeyed, took the napkin from his plate, and placed it over his lap. Frank looked at her patiently as she talked to the butler then turned to him.

"Cordelia's coming," she said with an excited smile. "I haven't told her about you so it'll be quite a surprise for her. Hope you don't mind…" Frank shook his head and smiled back, but he couldn't help but feel there was something wrong with the woman… something strangely wrong. There were suddenly hurried footsteps echoing down the hall. Someone was definitely in a rush. A teenager about Frank's age walked speedily into the hall and took the seat on the right of Nadine. Frank felt his chest ache and his limbs grow numb. _It's acting up again,_ Frank thought angrily. He shook his head as discreetly as he could to clear it and then studied the girl casually.

"…sorry I'm late, mother," the girl was saying as she quickly grabbed the napkin and laid it down on her lap in one swift motion—almost mechanically. She finally looked up and away from her mother for the first time. Her eyes widened when they fell on Frank and she blushed prettily. Frank noticed the likeness between the girl and her mother. The hair was the same except didn't fall around her head in waves; the girl's hair was straight and hung in grouped strands like inked icicles. The light bounced off her hair and made it shine like silk… dark, black silk.

"Who's this?" the girl asked her mother, still looking at Frank with a small, shy smile. Her smile was not at all like her mother's; it was innocent, young, and quiet. _It's normal,_ Frank thought. _She's perfectly normal—and pretty._ She seemed to be reading her thoughts as she eyed him through her clear, green lens. _Like her mother,_ Frank noted.

"…is Frank Hardy. He'll be staying with us for awhile," Nadine was saying when Frank broke himself out of his trance. He pulled his eyes away from Cordelia Moore's and turned to Nadine instead. Nadine looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Frank, Cordelia, my daughter. Are you feeling alright, Frank?"

Frank nodded calmly and smiled.

"Pleased to finally meet you," Frank said, putting a hand out across the table to the girl. She looked at his outstretched hand for a moment, and then took it slowly and they shook.

"Frank needs my help on something so he'll be staying until we can figure it out," Nadine told her daughter. "He might even be taking classes with you later. I figured we should make his time here as productive as much as it is comfortable."

"Thanks again," Frank said, looking from Nadine to Cordelia. Then the food arrived on trays brought by the servers and the three began eating. Surprisingly, they all finished quickly and then Nadine excused herself.

"I have a lot of work to get finished—and started," she laughed and eyed Frank and her daughter. "You guys have fun getting to know a little more about each other. I'll see you in the morning!" She bid them goodnight and was off. Frank and Cordelia were still seated at the table and looking at each other.

"Want me to show you around?" Cordelia broke the silence as she got up and tossed the napkin on the table. Frank nodded, setting the napkin back on the table and getting up as well. Frank walked around the table to her and she led him down a hallway.

"Have you been here long?" Frank asked her. She looked at him.

"Here in the chateau?"

He nodded.

"I suppose not really," she said slowly. "We've owned it for—like—forever. It's just now that we've been living here. My mom always loves a change of scenery. She can never stay in one place for too long. I guess, I'm sort of like that too but I do get a little sick of moving around so much."

"I've never lived anywhere else but Bayport City, Ever Grande Street, number 9," Frank chuckled. "But we—my brother and I—like to travel _a lot_."

"You have a brother?"

He nodded again as they walked. "He's a year younger than me but acts otherwise."

She laughed, shaking her head. "I have a brother. Half-brother, actually. We've got different mothers." She looked at him and bit her lip, shaking her head again. "I don't know why I even told you that. I _never_ talk about them." Frank stared at her with a smile.

"Them?"

She bit her lip, hesitatingly. "To tell the truth, the only reason why I never talk about them is because I have no one to talk _to_ about them. Them meaning, my half-brother and my father."

"You have no one to talk to?" Frank was surprised. "It's hard to believe a girl like you with no friends." Cordelia blushed and smiled.

"No, it's not that," she stammered. "I don't go out much. No, actually, I don't go out at all."

"Well, why don't you?"

"It's because my mom tells me not to."

"Okay," Frank said slowly. "Do you know why?"

"Yeah, I do and I think she's right. Maybe it is better if I stay home. I don't even know if you and I should be hanging out."

"What? Why?" Frank said in surprise.

"It's because I'm…" Cordelia looked at the floor and stopped. Frank stopped and faced her.

"Hey," he said with a small smile. "You don't have to say if you don't want to. I mean, I wouldn't tell me either if I were you."

She looked up at him and smiled, her eyes wet.

"I don't know why my mom let you stay here but I'm glad she did…"

"Cordelia…"

"It's hard to be alone but sometimes that's what happens when you're… sick."

Frank stiffened and stared at Cordelia.

"Yeah, I get that from a lot of people," she said looking at his expression. "I don't look it do I?" He stared at her longer and shook his head. _She's beautiful. Too beautiful to be sick._

"No, you don't," Frank stammered. "Which is why I got sort of surprised…"

"It's a _deadly_ sort of sick," Cordelia went on. "but it's not the kind where my hair falls out like cancer or anything. And for _that_, I'm thankful!" She gave a small laugh and fingered her hair. Her laugh calmed him and loosened his nerves a little.

_So am I,_ Frank thought.

"So your mom doesn't want you leaving the house in case you get even worse?" Frank asked her, and she shrugged.

"I suppose," she said. "My mom told you she's a scientist and a doctor, yes?"

He nodded.

"Chemist, too."

"Yeah, well, she's at work right now at finding me a cure."

"Oh," Frank breathed. "Well, I suppose she's doing the same for me." Cordelia's eyes widened and she gasped.

"You're sick too?" She asked, her eyes filled with worry and concern. Frank suddenly remembered Callie—the way she looked at him when he would go on another extreme sport trip with Joe—and looked at away from Cordelia. He had half the mind to tell her the same thing he told Nadine but the way she looked at him…

"You can't tell your mother, please, Cordelia," Frank said in a low voice, struggling to keep the plea from his tone. "I told her I needed help for a friend of mine. She doesn't know I'm the one who's sick. I couldn't tell her—"

"Why? She could help you faster," Cordelia pressed.

"No, she couldn't," Frank disagreed. "I don't even know how she'll find the cure…"

"What is it?"

"What's what?"

"What have you got?" Cordelia rephrased. "Is it cancer? Is it deadly?"

"I have no idea, in fact, no one really does," Frank said, shaking his head. "All I know is that it hurts. It hurts all the time. I get nose bleeds, chest pains, headaches, my vision blurs, and then other times I black out completely."

Cordelia was silent and then took his hands tightly.

"What else?" she whispered, her grip on his hands tightening.

"What else?" Frank repeated, staring at her. She looked around and opened the nearest door. She pulled him inside with her.

"What other symptoms?" she restated, staring at him intently.

"Symptoms?" Frank repeated and thought hard. "Well, sometimes I shake—tremble… and it's not because it's too cold. I don't know… I sometimes get wheezy, like an asthma attack but ten times worse. Why?" She had grabbed his arm, squeezing it—but not too hard. He looked at her white knuckles and raised an eyebrow at her.

"That's what's happening to me too!" Cordelia whispered, her brows furrowed and looked at him in awe. _Good awe? Bad awe? I don't know._ "Sometimes, I feel depressed and then the next minute I'm okay again. Then I get moody and I get angry…"

"Yeah," Frank breathed, staring at her. They looked at each other in silence for a few moments, before Frank broke it. "So, how'd you get it?"

"I, um, I don't know," she told him, shaking his head. "How 'bout you?"

"Well, it's kinda hard to explain…"

"Frank—"

"…I mean, it's a long story…"

"Frank, you're bleeding!" Cordelia whispered urgently. "Your nose…" Frank gingerly dabbed his nostrils and his fingers came away with blood.

"That's funny," he murmured. "It hasn't acted up for awhile…"

* * *

(YIKES!!) TBC


	18. Chapter 18

"Frank, you're bleeding!" Cordelia whispered urgently. "Your nose…" Frank gingerly dabbed his nostrils and his fingers came away with blood.

"That's funny," he murmured. "It hasn't acted up for awhile…"

He suddenly reeled forward and Cordelia caught him, laying him on the floor slowly.

"Oh no," she breathed. "If it hasn't acted up for some time then it isn't good!" Frank's eyelids drooped lazily and Frank felt the sudden exhaustion lulling him to sleep.

"I can't see clearly," he whispered. She pulled up his eyelids to keep them from closing and whispered frantically.

"Frank, stay awake! Stay with me!"

"Can't, can't stay awake…" he mumbled, his arms and legs were trembling and his fingers were numb. He felt Cordelia's fingers leave his eyes and he heard her standing up. Cordelia searched her pockets and pulled out a small case of pills. She opened it quickly, took two and bent over Frank again.

"Here, take these," she told him, slipping the pills into his mouth and watching him swallow painfully. His eyes closed and his breathing steadied. As she watched him, Cordelia felt sudden impulses to give him a peck on the cheek… just a quick… little… His eyes fluttered open. She wanted to lie down beside him and just be next to him…

"Thanks," Frank said interrupting her thoughts and sitting up. The pills had gone into effect in less than a few minutes. Already, the numbness and the trembling were gone. His vision was just starting to clear up and he now looked at her gratefully.

"Those were my meds. If we have the same—"

"Then it should work for the both of us," Frank nodded. He started to get to his feet and she followed. The two stood staring at each other again. _His eyes are brown…like chocolate. I love chocolate, they're mesmerizing,_ she thought, her heart beating rapidly.

"Thanks again," Frank's voice pulled her back to reality.

"I'm sure you would've done the same for me," she shrugged as she smiled at him, her cheeks hot but thankfully—she hoped—not noticeably red.

"I have your word that you won't tell your mother?" Frank asked her. She nodded without hesitation.

"I don't know much about you, Frank Hardy," Cordelia began, his name rolling off her tongue fervently. "I don't know why I get the feeling it's a matter of life and death that I keep your secret and I don't know why I'm hiding it from the person I love the most… but I will. You have my word."

"Thank you," Frank said nodding.

"I think you've thanked me enough for one day," Cordelia laughed and shoved him playfully. He looked at her in surprise for a moment and laughed. "And call me Cordie; Cordelia sounds old."

"Alright," he said with a grin and then looked around. "So where is this?"

"This is just one of the gazillion guest rooms in this place," Cordelia explained waving a hand in the air casually. "It's not even a chateau but mother likes to call it that. It's actually just a mansion."

"'_Just_ a mansion'?" Frank repeated as she looked around the room with a heavy sigh.

"Well, if you've grown up around them long enough you get pretty tired of them," she shrugged. "C'mon, I'll show the rest of the place. At least, the parts I know about." She took his hand and led him out of the room.

"So, do you still get lost around here?" he queried.

She let go of his hand as they started walking down the hallway and nodded.

"Yeah. Not even the people who _work_ here know the whole place by heart. The people who lived here before us and the people who worked for the people who lived here before us are all dead. This place is really old. Cost my mother a small fortune to get it fixed up."

"Not much a problem for your family I bet," he said as they turned the corner.

"This is the armory," she pushed open one of the large doors along the hall. She walked him around the room and then they headed out the hallway into another room. They went on throughout the building, in and out of rooms, for the rest of the evening. When they stopped in the study hall, Frank glanced at his watch it read past twelve. Just as he dropped his arm, the lights in the hallways dimmed.

"Hey, it's getting late," Frank said, looking up at her as she stifled a yawn. "You must be getting tired."

She eyed him with a grin and nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, I exhausted you too, didn't I?" Cordelia laughed. She jerked her head for him to follow her. "You'll probably get lost on your way back to your room. I'll just walk you there."

"Okay."

They walked on with Frank carefully observing each hallway and each door they passed.

They finally stopped at the familiar door that Frank knew to be his room.

"Here we are," Cordelia said turning him. "So I guess I'll see you tomorrow then. Goodnight!" Her eyes sparkled despite the dimness of the corridor and her weariness. Frank felt a sudden urge to comfort her to put a little color back into her cheeks, which were pleasant rosy tint when they first left the dining room. At some point along the tour they were both so busy enjoying, her cheeks had sunken in a little and for the first time that evening she actually looked frail and sick.

"Thanks for everything," Frank said with a grateful smile, hoping it might cure her a bit. "Goodnight." She smiled back, waited for a moment, and then walked away. He watched her leave and didn't enter the room until she turned the corner.


	19. Chapter 19

"They don't know," Fenton Hardy said to his son Joe as the two of them sat in his study. Joe's brows furrowed and he wrung his fingers in frustration. He had just answered another one of Joe's questions regarding the scientists' progress on finding out what was wrong with his brother.

"Well," he began, "if they don't know what caused it or how to fix it, what exactly _do_ they know?"

"Not much," Fenton replied, running a hand through his dark hair wearily. He shut his eyes, rubbing them hard and then looked at Joe. "I'm sorry, son."

"They don't know much?" Joe repeated in annoyance. "What kind of scientists are they anyway?"

"The best of the best," his father told him gently. "They're the best, Joe, but they aren't gods. It takes sometime for a cure to be found; they have to do tests, a lot of research, in-depth studies—"

"To do that, don't they need Frank?"

"Yes, but they've already got the clothes Frank was wearing when the chemical spill occurred. They've got a sample of his DNA from Frank's toothbrush that I submitted and I told them about his symptoms, behavior—"

"Dad, why aren't we going after David Gray?" Joe prompted abruptly.

"Joe, I looked him up everywhere I could," Fenton Hardy told him. "We've already gone over this: there is no David Gray that ever resided anywhere near here."

"But Dad, maybe he's not listed like everyone else!" said Joe angrily. "We should look into it so why aren't we?"

Fenton eyed his son hesitantly and shook his head.

"You don't know what lengths I've taken to find out about David Gray. No one seems to know and anyone who does isn't willing to admit they know, let alone talk to me about it," the detective said. "But I haven't given up, Joe. _We_ shouldn't look into it. I think it's better if you stay here and I investigate Frank's case—"

"Dad! You're talking about him like he's just another client of yours with a case that has to be solved!" Joe stood up angrily, eyes accusing his father openly. "You even expect me to stay out of it and go on as if nothing's wrong?!"

"Joe, you're stressed, sit and calm down," Fenton coaxed. Joe rejected the offer wordlessly, crossing his arms and scowling at his father.

"I want to help," he said firmly. He watched, as his annoyance escalated into pure frustration, his father shake his head just as resolutely.

"You need to clear your head and see through all your emotions, Joe," Fenton said. Joe's scowl deepened and he shook his head.

"Fine, if you won't let me help you, I'll do it by myself," the youth glared at his father, daring Fenton to stop him. After one last glance at his distraught father, Joe stormed out the front door.

Fenton put his head in his hands and sighed heavily. _My sons…_

* * *

"Good morning, dear," Nadine Moore greeted as her daughter opened the door to her study. She looked up at her daughter only briefly, her eyes returning to the paper she held in her hand.

"Morning, mom," Cordelia replied, entering the room and then closing the door behind her gently.

"How are you feeling today?" Nadine asked without looking away from the sheet.

Cordelia knew the routine by heart, knowing only too well that her mother was very concerned about her daughter's well-being.

"I'm fine. Had a minor headache and stomach ache last night before I went to bed, though."

"Really? What do you think could have caused them?" Her mother replaced the sheet she held with another one from the pile on her desk.

"Maybe something I ate at dinner—"

"Or someone you ate _with_ at dinner," Nadine said, finally looking up from the papers and smiling shrewdly at her daughter.

"Mom—" Cordelia waved a strand of her hair from her face, hoping to cover the redness slowly blooming on her cheeks.

"You like him. I know you do," Nadine chuckled, putting the sheet down and stepping out and in front of the desk. She stood in front of her daughter and crossed her arms, not defensively.

"Well, I walked him through some parts of the mansion last night and he enjoyed it—well, he said he did…" Cordelia couldn't suppress a smile.

"I'm glad you two had fun. I just hope you wouldn't stay up so late next time, I mean, it's bad for your health—"

"I know… We—I— got carried away, I guess," stammered Cordelia.

"I'm sure," Nadine said, her arms dropping as she stepped toward her daughter and they embraced. Then she held Cordelia's shoulder at arm's length, eyeing her intensely. Cordelia noticed this and cocked her head to one side questioningly.

"What is it?" she asked her mother, their gazes steadfast.

"Did you two talk a lot?"

Cordelia felt her heart flutter slightly and ignored it.

"I suppose," she said carefully, shrugging. "He told me a little about his family. He has a brother, you know."

"Yes, I know," her mother nodded. "He didn't mention anything else?"

"Why are you so interested in him, mom?"

"He needs my help, why shouldn't I be?"

Cordelia eyed her mother doubtfully.

"You're not telling me something," Cordelia said, her eyes drifting to the folder that her mother had held earlier and now lay on the desk. The letters H-A-R-D-Y was scribbled on the front. She pulled away from her mother, went to the desk, and grabbed the folder. "You're checking on him?" She asked her mother, somewhat angrily. It was Frank. Nadine was invading his privacy and Cordelia couldn't let that happen… especially after how much trust he had put in her to keep his secret.

"Yes," Nadine said openly, walking to her and then gently prying the folder from Cordelia's fingers. "I have to know about his background. I can't have complete strangers running around our house. Besides, I just found out what an exceptional boy, Mr. Hardy really is. Interested?" She opened the folder, propping it open in front of her like a book. Cordelia was torn. She was dying to find out more about Frank… but she couldn't help but feel like she was betraying him. Her mother was still staring at her, waiting patiently.

Finally, Cordelia shook her head after much thought and self-debate.

"It's alright," she said with a deep breath. "He can tell me about himself better than a few pieces of paper written by someone who's not him can." Nadine nodded, closed the folder, and let it drop onto the desk.

"Is there anything you want to talk about? I really must get to work now, Cordie," Nadine said, rubbing her forehead. Cordelia shook her head and walked past her mother to door.

"No, just came in to say good morning," Cordelia said, her hand on the knob. She opened the door and then called back to her mother. "Frank and I will be around, see you!" The door closed before Nadine could reply and the woman sat down on her chair with a sigh. She noticed her phone was blinking and she leaned over to pick it up.

"Fuller," she said into the phone.

"Ms. Moore," a deep, baritone voice replied. "We've lost her and B15 isn't doing any better. Let me tell you, I'm happy to say that we've perfected phase one."

"Give me a time frame for B15," Nadine said, her fists clenching. _Another failure_, she thought angrily, _I had such high hopes for G17. Failures… Well not completely. Phase one is complete._ She allowed herself a smile but celebration was the last thing on her mind. _One down, two more to go and then after that, the real work begins._

"I'd say five hours at the most," the man on the other replied with a small sigh of defeat. "I'm sorry, Ms. Moore, we tried—"

"What do you suggest we do?" Nadine asked steely. The man, Fuller, cleared his throat.

"We'll need to run more trials and more subjects. Phase one in the most recent ones were simulated perfectly but failed to duplicate certain symptoms for phase two."

"What needs changing?"

"Dosage. At least, it's the best we've got so far. For the first trials, we steadily increased the dosage. Most of the subjects died instantaneously but we found that dosage is related to fitness of the subject. We have to find the right subject and give the right dosage. It's all trial and error… a difficult and long process—"

"Mr. Fuller, don't lecture me on trial and error. I've fired enough project leaders to know about _trial and error_," Nadine snapped. "Tell me, you aren't another error, Fuller." There was a long pause and the sound of a man breathing nervously. _Motivation,_ Nadine thought and smiled.

"No, Ms. Moore, certainly not," Fuller stammered. "I'll get another trial up and running as soon as possible. We'll find a fit enough subject, we'll lower the dosage… and then we'll see what happens after that."

"Very well," Nadine said. "Call me when before you begin. I want to see the completed phase one myself."

"Okay, Ms. Moore—"

She hung up before the man could finish.


	20. Chapter 20

Frank, his body wet and heavy, swung his legs over the side of his bed. He put the back of one hand to his forehead and quickly withdrew it. He was burning all over on the outside but he felt chills running through him at the same time. _Fever?_ He got to his feet unsteadily but as soon as he did so, a wave of vertigo washed through him. Pain flamed up his jaw and cheek and down his chest and shoulder. He fell to the floor. Gasping for breath, he painfully got to his hands and knees. Just as soon as it had started the pain quickly faded and Frank's vision steadied and cleared. He put a finger to his mouth. _It's wet with_… he pulled his fingers away and knew before he saw it. Blood. Slowly, he got to his feet again and carefully made his way to the bathroom; he felt like a tightrope walker.

He propped himself on the sink's edges and turned the water on. He let if flow for awhile before cupping some to his mouth and washing the area around it. The water that dripped back down into the sink was light red and he shivered suddenly.

There was a knock at the door. Frank bolted upright, grabbed the towel that hung from the rack, wiped his face, and quickly made his way to the door.

He opened the door a crack, him being underdressed still.

"Frank?"

It was Cordelia.

"Hello, Cordie," he greeted. She smiled.

"Say, you want to try a few classes today?"

Frank hesitated, drowning in the intensity and hopefulness in her eyes. He wanted very much to say yes…

"Sorry, Cordie," he shook his head, looking down away from her eyes. "I'm not exactly feeling up to it yet. If you know what I mean—"

"It's perfectly alright," Cordelia cut in. "I understand. You're feeling a little under the weather, it's normal. I'm pretty used to them, myself. Do you need anything? There's an entire pharmacy around here somewhere; my mom's idea." She smiled.

"No thanks, I think I'll just lie down for a little longer." He nodded to her.

"Maybe I'll see you later then?"

"Definitely," Frank replied with a grin.

"Alright, hope you feel better sooner rather than later," she said, turned, and started back the way she came.

Frank shut the door as soon as she was out of sight and clutched his forehead. The room was spinning. _It's getting worse,_ he thought, holding out one hand against the wall to steady himself. _Much worse. _He had thought he was getting better, at least, a little better. Now it seemed that the illness was playing with him, making him think he was getting better and then coming back harder and more painful.

He walked clumsily to where the closet, where clothes his size had been provided just the day before. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt without much care and changed quickly. Despite the migraine and the pain he felt throughout his entire body, he felt the need—the want—to see Cordelia again.

* * *

Joe stepped down from the curb, throwing a glance to his left and then to his right. There were no cars in sight as he crossed slowly, deep in thought. _Who is David Gray?_ The same thought reverberated stubbornly in his mind, accompanied always with the image of his brother. His face taut and his mouth tight-lipped, he strode down the sidewalk.

A lady passed him by and she saw the sheet he clutched tightly in one hand. Joe noticed this and stole another glance at the sheet. It was not a sheet at all, in fact, but a picture; it had been taken at a recent victory party after the Bayport Football Team won the state championship. Frank and Joe stood amongst a row of muscular, uniformed boys. Frank, as the team's quarterback, stood in the center with his arm around Joe standing next to him. Joe saw that the lady had stopped expectantly and he looked at her, holding out the photo.

"You're looking for someone, aren't you?" the lady smiled at him kindly, nodding toward the photo. Joe nodded slowly and pointed at his brother's grinning face on the photo.

"Yeah," he said. "Maybe you've seen him?" The lady looked at the photo and then shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she said, lifting her gaze from the photo.

"Oh, that's okay," Joe put his arm down, his knuckles white from gripping on the photo.

"I've met a lot of people looking for their lost loved ones recently," the lady said. Joe wasn't interested but he looked at her and tried to frown with curiosity.

"Oh? Wonder why…" Joe commented. The lady shrugged and just as Joe was about to excuse himself to move on, she moved toward him.

"I hear people are being…" she glanced from left to right. "…abducted!" Joe heard fear in her voice as she hissed the last word into his ear. She backed away a couple of steps and shook her head at him."The things people do these days…"

For a moment she seemed to look right through him, lost in frightful thought, but then she started and smiled feebly.

"I hope you find your brother soon," she said quietly and started to walk away. Joe was rooted to the spot for a few seconds before he ran after her.

"Miss! Excuse me, miss," Joe called. She stopped and turned to him inquisitively with a raised eyebrow. He stopped in front of her and looked at her.

"Well, what is it?" she prompted, concern wrinkling her forehead and filling her eyes.

"You said, 'I hope you find your brother soon.'" Joe said.

"Oh…" the woman said uncertainly.

"How did you know he was my brother?" the young Hardy asked her. "No stranger could tell that by just looking at our pictures, I mean, we don't look anything alike." The lady shifted uncomfortably on her feet and shrugged.

"I guessed," she said hollowly. Joe didn't miss the look in her eyes that told him that she was a bad liar.

"You know and I know that you know you didn't guess, lady," Joe said, anger creeping into his voice. "Do you know where he is? Are you in on it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"My brother, you looked at the picture and you know him!"

"I've never seen him before in my life!"

"Tell me where he is—"

"I don't know!"

"Then why did you look at his photo like that—?!"

"I'm missing someone too, okay!" the lady screamed at him. "My daughter…"

Joe looked around to see if anyone had noticed the scene they were making but it was a work day afternoon and the downtown area they were in was quite deserted. A man on the other side of the street threw a glance in their direction but moved on after a brief moment. Joe turned to the lady incredulously.

"What?"

"I can tell just by looking at you… that you're missing someone too." The woman said, softly this time and looking at the ground. There was a silence as Joe struggled to find the right words to apologize with and the lady, grasp what she had just revealed to a complete stranger.

"I'm sorry," Joe stammered finally. The lady looked up at him. Joe noticed her eyes were wet.

"She's been missing for weeks," she said in a barely audible voice. "And I've run out of places to look." Joe looked at the photo he clutched in his hand and then at the woman.

"I'm sorry," Joe said again, feeling his apologies were directed towards Frank as much as the woman. _I don't know where to find you, Frank_. _I'm not as smart as you…_

"So am I," the woman shook her head. "What the world's becoming these days, I'll never understand…"

There was a pause.

"By the way," Joe told the woman, swallowing hard. "His name is Frank Hardy. And I'm Joe." The lady nodded.

"If I hear anything, I'll find you," she said with a small smile. "My daughter, Marsha—in case… you know, you hear anything about her... I'm Sam, Samantha Hollow." Joe nodded. She turned her back on him and walked away. For a moment, Joe stood where he was, mulling over the conversation he just had. Then his attention turned back to his search for Frank.

He spotted an open café that wasn't too busy and decided to check it out. _I _am_ a bit thirsty._ He entered the café and slowly walked to the counter, taking in the coziness of the place. There were only a few people around, most of them elderly and sipping their coffees alone quietly. Joe took an empty seat at a table in the middle of the room, drumming his fingers on the wooden surface patiently. A few seconds later, a woman's head peered out from behind the door that Joe assumed led to the kitchen. She quickly scanned the room for any new customers and then saw Joe. The boy watched the woman's head disappear and the doors swing open to let her through. The lady wore an apron and held a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other.

"Hello, sir," she greeted him jovially with a click of her pen. "What can I get for you?"

"Hi," Joe replied. "Just coffee, please."

"Okay," the waitress hurriedly scribbled on her notepad. She was just about to leave when she noticed the glumness in Joe's mood. "You sure look like you need the coffee. Is something wrong, dear?"

Joe hesitated for a moment, but then showed her the same photo he had shown the Sam. "I'm looking for someone. Is there any chance you might've seen him?"

The woman looked at the photo and her eyes widened so slightly that any normal, unsuspecting person would have missed it, but Joe detected it easily.

"I've never seen him before," the waitress answered smoothly, shaking her head. "Sorry."

"It's alright," Joe said vaguely, more focused on what her reaction was when she saw the photo. He hadn't pointed out to her which of the boys he was referring to. _She knows something… This time I'm sure._

"Is he a friend of yours?" the waitress asked in a high, inquisitive tone.

"Actually, yeah. We're really close friends," Joe answered, slipping the photo back into his shirt pocket. "Everyone's looking for him, you know?" He shook his head.

"Really now?"

"Yeah, but so far nothing's come up," Joe continued. His excitement rose along with every rise of her eyebrow and twitch of her neck. "No one knows where he is…"

"Well, I hope you find him soon," the lady said quickly. "I should probably get you your coffee. I've always found that a little caffeine can help clear the head somewhat." She gave him a small smile and walked away.

Joe let a few minutes pass before getting up and making his way to the men's room. As he did so, he noticed with approval how no one seemed to mind him any attention. When he reached the door to the men's room, he quickly changed the direction and headed for the kitchen instead. _She knows… she knows…_ Joe slipped between the doors leading into the kitchen, and hurriedly ducked down behind a messy counter filled with unwashed pots, dishes, and other utensils. The kitchen was alive with the hum of machinery in operation but was relatively empty of people. Peering over the top of the counter and between its occupants, Joe saw just two men uniformed in white. One was hunched over a stove and slowly stirring the contents of a pot, while the other was at a sink, scrubbing and rinsing mugs and dishes.

Joe was in luck. The men's concentration and the noise of the machinery were certainly in his favor. _Now, the waitress… where's she?_ He scanned the room but there was no woman with the outward impression of a sweet, hard-working waitress. Then he heard a door in the bang loudly, though he was unsure of whether it was closing or opening. For a moment, panic fluttered in his chest, thinking it had come from behind him and he had been found out. Joe looked behind him and saw no one. He turned his attention to where the noise really came from. It was somewhere beyond the two cooks—the service door, most probably. Joe, still crouching behind the counters' generous covers, made his way to a better vantage point. He stopped behind another counter. From here he could see the door; he quickly estimated it to be only a few feet away. Waiting a few moments to make sure the two cooks were still busy, he then quickly made for the door. He opened a crack and found himself peering out into an alley that was empty save for a few bags of garbage tossed against one wall.

The woman was nowhere in sight. Slowly and quietly, Joe slipped out in front of the door and gently shut it behind him, while he continued scanning the alley. He moved forward. The teen had only moved a few steps forward when suddenly he was knocked down.

* * *

Hope I've made up for lost time! :D :P :)

Suggestions? Criticisms? Hellos? R&R Pleasezzz!


	21. Chapter 21

Joe came to with a hundred bells ringing in his ears. Surprisingly enough, he remembered everything that had happened before the black out with acute detail. _What the hell did she hit me with?_ he wondered. _Speaking of she…_

"Where…?" Joe murmured as he got to his feet. A sharp metallic click answered his unfinished question for him; he looked up to find himself stared down at by the barrel of a gun. Letting his eyes drift further upward, he saw the waitress sneering at him. She was no longer garbed in her uniform, instead a simple shirt and jeans. On either side of her stood a couple guys Joe could've sworn he'd met at the local gym. Their torsos looked just about ready to burst out of their shirts.

"You trying to shortcut your way into the afterlife, kid?" The woman snapped, getting his attention again.

"No," Joe said plainly.

"Well, it's what you'll get for snooping around where you shouldn't," she replied.

"Why, then that means I'm exactly where I should be," Joe retorted, his fists clenching. "You know where my brother is. Tell me."

"I thought he was just a friend."

"Well, I thought you were just a waitress."

"You're in over your head kid. Just like your brother was. Too bad for the both of you, you'll never live to regret it."

"Regret what? Who are you working for exactly?"

"Is this the part where you get the bad guys to start monologue-ing? You hoping that I spill the beans because I'm going to kill you anyway?"

"Well," Joe shrugged. "If you say so."

"Don't play smart with me, honey," the woman laughed. "I've been around too long and I've seen too much."

"I don't get it," Joe said. "What are you getting out of this—making sure the missing stay missing?"

The woman's smile melted and she seemed to drop the gun a little.  
"Revenge? Pleasure? Money?" There was a long pause before the woman suddenly let her arm fall to the side.

"You're cute. Too cute," she said finally. "And much too much of a smart mouth to shoot, and I have a thing for smart mouths… besides, it'd be such a waste for you to meet your end with me. You're much worthier of someone else."

"Who?"

"Well, if you keep at it the way you are," she said casually. "you'll find out soon enough."

"So you're letting me go?" Joe's eyebrows raised dubiously.

"I think you meant I'm-letting-you-go-without-a-metal-slug-embedded-in-your-forehead…" she smiled at him. "And yes."

"How do I know you're not just going to put one in my back the minute I turn around?"

"You don't."

"Well then, thank you?" Joe said, taking a couple steps back.

"Oh, and one more thing… Joe Hardy," she held out her hand to one of the men beside her and the next moment Joe was catching a worn leather wallet. "The one I work for will be most displeased if he finds out you're aiming to root up his business. Do yourself a favor and accept the fact that you'll never see your brother again. And by the looks of him, he wouldn't mind missing a few family reunions."

"Wait, so you're saying you _did_ see my brother," Joe said, stuffing his wallet back into his pocket hurriedly.

"Yes, I did," she said. "In fact, I helped him find his way to my employer."

"Give me a name," Joe demanded.

"Alright, but only because I'm quitting first thing tomorrow morning," she sighed and shook her head. "What am I getting myself into, helping a kid…"

Joe cleared his throat.

"David Gray," the woman replied at last.

* * *

"I would have contacted you sooner but I've been busy," Nadine Moore spoke into the phone crisply. "How are you?"

"I've been much better," a gruff voice replied on the other end.

"And Roger?"

"Haven't heard from him," Frederick Wesley growled. "Must be those pigs. They're trying to keep us from having any contact whatsoever; still trying to untangle the web we've been spinning for the last couple of months. I'm lucky they even let me look at this phone."

"I see."

"Speaking of, what have you been busy with? I'm sitting here with my ass welding onto the—"

"The project, Frederick. The only one I've had for a long time now, remember?" She hissed into the phone.

"I assumed that, dear," Wesley replied not without annoyance. "But—specifics? Are you actually getting anywhere close to a cure?"

"Yes, I've made some headway," her voice hardly containing the untruth.

"Sure," the other end scoffed. "But, there's something I've been meaning to tell you since I was thrown in here by—"

"Fenton Hardy," she finished for him. "I do occasionally leave the lab, you know." The image of Frank kept her mind occupied.

"Alright, so some of my hands nabbed his son Frank, heard of him?" Receiving no answer, he went on. "Well, anyway, they managed to drag the kid from his own house and to the theater. I used him to keep his father at bay for a time but it was during the escape that things got messy—I tell you, this kid was more of a pain than his father was, thrashing all over the place, lashing out at me at every opportunity… so, I grabbed a syringe and a vial from the case you gave me and—"

"You what?!"

"Well, I was just about to say—"

"You infected him with Cordelia's virus?!"

"Do you always have to get the last word?"

"Frederick Wesley, you gargantuan dolt," she groaned, which was very unlike her. "I have the very boy under my roof!"

"What?"

"Frank Hardy is staying not two hallways down from our daughter!"

"Woman, don't joke around with me—"

"When have I ever joked, Frederick?"

"In that case, I want you to go into that little rat's room and grab him by the neck—"

"Again, you are a gargantuan dolt. Don't you realize what this means?" Silence. "Frank Hardy came to me for help to cure some disease he claims his 'friend' has contracted. There is no friend, is there? Ha! The boy himself is sick. My gut instinct, as always, was correct. I needed him, though I did not see it at the time… I told myself he would be a perfect little playmate for Cordelia… to keep her mind off of things." She laughed again, her voice betraying her excitement.

"Has she been thinking about running away again? Sneaking out?"

"Often then. But less now that Frank is here. Anyway, more to the point, you infected him with Cordelia's virus and it has manifested perfectly. Never has it been a natural process… always had to be imposed on the subjects… B1, G2, B10, G17, B15… nameless faces who have all died simply because they could _not_ get sick. And here we have Frank Hardy, whom with one contact inherits the disease as if he'd been born with it. How much did you give him? Oh, I suppose it doesn't really matter—"

"Quit your gibberish, woman," Wesley hissed, alerting her to her audience. "Frank Hardy is a living, walking get-into-jail card. He must be disposed of—"

"Oh, so Frederick, you do care somewhat," she said mockingly. "Disposed of? Ha! The perfect subject had sauntered right into my hands and you want me to dispose of him? Why? Because he and his father ruined your pathetic afterschool druggie club?"

"Nadine, this is the boy who landed your son in juvi!" Frederick hissed. "Roger!"

"I know who my son is, Frederick," Moore snapped. "But as much as I love him, that boy got himself into juvi on pretty much his own, albeit with a little role modeling from you. So no, Frederick, I will not let opportunity escape me so easily. I'll send your lawyer payment for bail. Goodbye."

"Nadine—"

Nadine Moore gently replaced the receiver and sighed, her stomach a-tingle. _It's surprising, the things that come knocking at your very door,_ she mused as she pulled out the manila folder her daughter had so profusely refused to look at. At the very center of it was printed: FRANK HARDY.

* * *

Frank stepped out of his room and closed the door behind him gently. Gingerly, he took a few steps forward toward what he was hoping was the dining area. So focused was he in merely staying upright, that he failed to notice the sound of footsteps coming up behind him. It wasn't until a cloth was pressed against his mouth, and an arm wrapped around his neck that he realized something was terribly wrong. Then someone turned the lights off.

* * *

**I know you're probably ready to throw the mouse at the computer screen, I mean, I would be if this was all the author put up after weeks with no updates! :D :) Understandable enough--unlike this chapter, in my opinion. Too much of a "filler" chapter**. **Critiques please and suggestions are more than welcome! I didn't give myself time to think and proofread this one through (much like all the other chapters actually :) but still happy reading and thanks for all the reviews! Fuel in my literary gas tank, thanks very much!**


	22. Chapter 22

Consciousness gripped Frank so suddenly his entire body convulsed. It was a strange sensation. Frank felt like… he was underwater. He tried to open his eyes, and then realized that they were already open. Everything was a blur, and painful. He realized that he really was submerged in water. He lifted his hands and reached out into the space in front of him. The collided with something invisible… something solid. Glass, he thought. What was going on? He was breathing heavily into a mask strapped onto his face. He made a move to remove it but then thought better of it, remembering that he was _in_ water and the mask was evidently and quite literally the only thing keeping him breathing.

He probed the glass with his fingers again. Who had put him in there? The last thing he remembered was walking down the hall of his room. To meet Cordie. It was then that it struck him. He found it was getting harder to breath, the more his brain processed the fact that he was in a tank filled with water. In an enclosed space. Save his parents and brother, he had never let anyone know that he was claustrophobic.

"He's conscious, Ms. Moore," a voice boomed. It sounded muffled to Frank, and he knew it must've come from just outside the tank.

"Are the preparations complete?" a familiar voice asked. It was Nadine. Frank choked with emotion. He had been a fool to trust such a woman. He could see a blurred outline of her standing in front of him. Close enough for him to touch her if he could.

"Yes," the other voice answered. "Shall we commence testing?"

Frank slammed his fist against the glass angrily.

"No!"

"At your discretion, Mr. Fuller," Nadine replied. She could hardly contain her excitement. She had high hopes for this subject. Frank Hardy. The name rolled off her tongue like candy. If this operation proved successful, Cordelia could finally be cured.

The boy was pounding on the glass.

"Alright then," Fuller murmured. He made moves to punch in a few variables, and initiate the experiment when Nadine stopped him.

"Wait," she said. "Drain the tank. First, I want to hear what he's trying to say."

"But Ms. Moore, when it comes to experiments of this kind," he told her quickly. "Involving subjects that are likely to expire so readily… it would be best not to associate—"

"Drain it!" Nadine barked.

He quickly nodded and pressed the appropriate key.

Frank heard gurgling. For a moment, he thought he might just be imagining it, as he often imagined things when he was feeling claustrophobic. But no, the level of the water was lowering. Reaching up, he could feel air. It took only a few more moments for the tank to completely empty. He could see through the tank, clear as day. He felt naked, clad only in thin shorts with wires and nodes protruding from points all over his chest, arms, legs, and head. When gravity had complete control over him at last, he let himself fall to his knees, banging them painfully on the steel floor of his prison. He realized he must have been out for quite awhile for his muscles to feel so unexercised.

"What's the matter, Mr. Hardy? Tired?" Nadine asked him, a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

"Why…?" Frank gasped, his exhaustion catching up to him quickly.

"You're going to be my miracle drug, Frank," she told him.

"What?"

"You. You will help me cure Cordelia."

"How? What are you talking about?" He put a hand against the glass to steady himself.

"Let's not burden your little head with all the details, shall we?"

"This isn't right!"

"It's an honor to serve science, Frank. I thought you of all people would understand that."

"What?"

"Let me put this another way… you love her don't you?"

"I…" Frank rasped and shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"If you love her… you'd be willing to do anything for her," Nadine said slowly, stepping closer to the tank. "Even die for her. To save her life."

"You can't do this."

"You're a healthy subject. I've got some of the world's best doctors here at my disposal. Most significant of all… I have a daughter who's terminally ill. What is it exactly that I can't do?"

"You don't understand!" Frank pleaded. Nadine saw he was shaking uncontrollably. In a hushed voice that echoed through the laboratory, he continued. "I'm not healthy at all. I'm just as sick as Cordelia."

"But that's precisely why you're in there, dear," Nadine turned to Fuller. The scientist nodded and pushed a long red lever back. Frank heard another sound and felt coldness nipping at his toes and the bottoms of his feet. He looked down to see water flooding into the tank.

"While you were incapacitated—asleep—we ran tests," Nadine told the trembling figure. "Your bloodwork compared to Cordelia's."

"But I'm not sick," Frank insisted, a painful cough creeping up his throat, ready to be released with all its irony. The water lapped at his ankles, his staccato breathing told him he needed to calm himself down before he loses consciousness completely.

"But you are, Mr. Hardy," the woman said, folding her arms over her chests in triumph. "You are smart enough to know when playing dumb just makes you look _really_ dumb. Now—"

"Cordelia knows, I told her… Does she know about this?" Frank demanded, starting to feel the beginnings of another seizure. "I know she—wouldn't—she wouldn't want this!" He screamed desperately. "And whatever happened to patient consent?" He could feel the anger in him giving him a little more strength, the water around his thighs fueling his words.

"Ms. Moore, we should not agitate the subject… it might jeopardize the entire—" the doctor stammered behind the woman.

"Shut up, Fuller," Nadine snapped. Frank banged at the glass again, the water had its cold arms around his waist.

"But his heart rate, brain activity—everything's starting to spike! We can't have him seizing in the tank!"

"Let me out, please!" Frank urged, slamming his fist into the glass harder and harder. "Please!"

"Alright, fill it up and get this thing over and done with," Nadine ordered. "And I want you to try and keep him awake through everything. I want him to feel every cramp, every itch… everything. I want him to know what it feels like to die." Frank gasped and his chest constricted as the water seized his torso.

"Yes, ma'am," Fuller said in a hushed voice, slowly pressing his fingers onto dozens of buttons to get the tank filled again.

"Roger and Frederick can't be here with me today to see this, but I'll make sure they get a copy," Nadine sneered, pointing to a camera positioned outside, at the top of the tank Frank was in. She seemed to hum as she added. "For the good of science, my children, and for… well—me. Brace yourself, Mr. Hardy." She turned on her heels and began walking away.

"What? No," Frank cried hoarsely, feeling the water at his neck. "At least let me talk to my—" He never got to finish, the water rushing over his head, seeking to conquer every gap, space, cranny in his being. The image of Nadine Moore's shrinking back blurred as water finally filled the tank to the rim.


	23. Chapter 23

Cordelia treaded across the carpeted dining hall to take her usual spot on Nadine's right at the dining table. There was a strange silence as mother and daughter eyed each other moments before dinner was set before them.

"You look as if you've got something to tell me," Nadine said finally as she reached for her glass.

"Well" the teen replied. "I haven't seen Frank since this morning."

"Oh really now," Nadine faked concern. "Is he okay?"

"Well, he didn't leave his room at all today."

"Perhaps he's feeling ill?"

"Maybe." Cordelia shrugged, but remembered her promise to Frank. "He might've been sniffing a little during the tour yesterday, but that's all really."

"Alright," Nadine declared suddenly, setting her glass down with an audible thump. She looked at Cordelia with a slight frown. "I really didn't know how to tell you this but… he's gone back home."

"What?" Cordelia breathed in shock. "Gone home? Already? I mean, he didn't tell me—" _Why would he do that? He didn't seem like the type to just up and leave without a word, or a hint—or a something! Why do I suddenly feel like the fool? Like yesterday was a huge prank made to play with my feelings. And I even made him a promise! A stupid promise! What was I thinking? That I was seven again and that crossing my heart and hoping to die…_ Her trail of thought was dulled out. She quickly hid the ongoing mental and emotional turmoil as she sipped her drink.

"Dear, he didn't realize until this afternoon when he came to me that he wanted to go home and, well, you know, see his family, friends," Nadine explained, smiling as if to comfort Cordelia as she did so. _Understandable enough but… he could have said _something _at least. He seemed so happy just being with—well… me. And I hadn't felt that way in a long time. _Cordelia relaxed a little as she mused on. _So really, you can't blame me. Me and my naivety. Cordie, it's alright, you can still visit him, right? Or he'll visit? Maybe even come back again after he gets over being homesick. It's not the end of the world. Or at least not the part that really matters… Right?_

"Mom, do you think we could go visit him?" she asked her mother, who had been in the middle of describing a future project. "Frank and his family, I mean."

"Cordelia, dear," Nadine said gently. "It would be inappropriate and very awkward, I mean, what would his family think? I'm the one willing to give him a refuge _away_ from his rightful place in his own home. I encouraged him to stay away from the family—"

"But he chose to come here on his own!" Cordelia exclaimed. "They can't blame you for that. And he was doing it for… a friend!"

"I know, hun," her mother sighed. "But if I were in their shoes I'd be pretty upset to meet me."

"Well, can I see him on my own then?"

"We've talked about this, remember? I can't let you leave in your condition, and start traipsing about when you could have a seizure at any moment, or end up collapsing…" She trailed off seeing the look of frustration on Cordelia's face. "And how well do you really know this boy?"

"I'm cursed," Cordelia murmured as decided she no longer had an appetite. "With this sickness—just when I think I've met someone who can make everything a little bearable, he leaves! It's driven everyone away!" _Not without my mother's help though; keeping me prisoner in my own home._

"I've got good news," Nadine said, taking her daughter's hand. "It might not lighten the news of Frank's leaving, but I'm sure you'll be happy to know that me and my scientists are closer than ever before to a cure! Before you know it, you'll be better again—"

"I've heard that before," Cordelia said, a little too sharply, pulling her hand out of her mother's grip. "You've said that more times than I can remember and, believe me, I remember a lot. So stop with the overused promise of a cure, please, mother." She stood up abruptly. "I hate my life! It's so pathetic! I haven't been living a life at all, this sickness is living ME!"

"But dear, this time I'm sure, I would bet my life on it," Nadine stammered. "And yours! It will work, there is no doubt in my mind. Perhaps after you've been cured—which will be soon—we could then visit Frank!" There was a silence between the two, the only sounds were their breathing, until Cordelia coughed and shuddered, and fell forward, using the table to keep her upright.

"Cordelia!" Nadine stood up to help her, but Cordelia was already turning and running out of the hall. Cordelia made a beeline for her room and then locked the door behind her. The trembling had stopped, probably because adrenaline had a brief takeover, but her nose started bleeding profusely. She ran to hunch over the sink.

_She promises so much that I get sick thinking about them… Kick a girl when she's down why don't you… _Her thoughts were red with frustration. _I can't believe he left… I can't believe it…_ She looked up at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. _In fact… I don't… I don't believe it._ The bleeding stopped; she washed herself up and threw herself onto her bed. _I don't believe it. I don't. He didn't leave. He wouldn't leave without telling me. I don't care if this is the naïve-16-year-old-me doing the thinking but… I think I'll let her take the reins for awhile. I'm so sick of all this. _She grunted sarcastically and turned onto her stomach, still in deep thought. _No pun intended._

There was knocking on the door but she ignored it easily. Her mother continued knocking for about two minutes, and then left. All the while, Cordelia had come to a decision. _That's it. I'll sneak out. I have to see him again. Find him. He's home with his family. Hardy. _Then she remembered when they were walking through the halls and they were talking about houses and home and…

"I've never lived anywhere else but Bayport City, Ever Grande Street, number 9," she remembered him say. She remembered him chuckling afterward. She remembered.

_I'll find you_, Cordelia thought resolutely. _Just one more time I need to see… and I need to know. Why did you leave without a word?_ _Not a hint, not a goodbye._

She immediately put aside the thoughts for later and began looking for her duffel bag.

* * *

Thoughts and/or suggestions? Reviews and critiques are welcome!

I know what you're thinking, an update at last!!!

Thanks to all those who have patiently kept up with the story, and to those who reviewed--you guys just can't let me leave this, can you? :)

I hope you're enjoying this as much as I'm enjoying writing it.


	24. Chapter 24

**An update at last!  
**

* * *

Inside the tank, Frank stirred, but did not regain complete consciousness. He was lingering on the border that divided sleep and consciousness. His toes would give the occasional twitch, his fingers the occasional shudder, and if one looked closely enough, one could see the lumps that were his eyes shifting beneath the unopened lids. His mind, half asleep, would occasionally attempt to decipher the garbled words that managed to penetrate the glass and the water and reach his ears.

"… temp—… normal… administering antido—…"

The significance of what was being said outside, of what was being done to him, hardly occupied his semi-conscious mind. There were fewer, more important things Frank Hardy was thinking about at the moment. His father's eyes… twinkling with a seriousness that teased all… would flash stubbornly in his mind's eye.

_Come on, Frank_, it seemed to tell him. _You've been worse…_ Frank would shake his head inwardly.

_No, dad_, he sighed. _I haven't. You were always there for me. Joe was always there for me. But it's okay. This time it was all me. My fault. I was the one who walked away. And for that… I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve this_.

_Aw, shut up_, Joe appeared, all six foot two of him. He was dressed in his team jersey and jeans. Frank knew he was seeing an image of Joe from his last birthday. _Dad's right. You've been in worse places. But you're right. _We_ don't deserve this. We don't deserve losing you. We're coming. Just hold on. We don't deserve you giving up on us either, brother, so just hold on._

_Don't think that I'm not, Joe_, Frank replied with a half-hearted laugh. _It's just… It's just that I don't think it's up to me anymore._

_Just don't fall asleep. You can't let that happen, otherwise…_

_I know, I know…_

_C'mon big bro—_

_I said alright already!_

A moment later, the figure in the tank once again succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

A dark-eyed, disheveled Fenton Hardy was subconsciously rubbing the stubble on his chin in serious thought as he paced the room. Joe sat at the edge of one of the three chairs available in his father's office. He sat with his head in his hands and his eyes shut.

"I'm sorry, Joe," Fenton said for the twentieth time, and like the last six or seven times since the first apology received no word of reply from the blonde that was presently tearing at his hair in exasperation.

"How could that be? Are you telling me that the name David Gray means nothing?!" Joe said, and like his father's apology, not for the first time.

"I'm sorry—"

"I'm not giving up on him," Joe said resolutely, looking up with tear-brimmed eyes. "It can't be that my brother just willingly disappeared off the face of the earth."

"My people have looked into almost every David Gray here in Bayport and all neighboring cities and they all came up clean. I've gone through them myself, there isn't anything."

"Well, widen the search area, what about looking into—

"All the David Grays in the state? Do you know how long that will take? How many man hours?"

"Dad, this is Frank we're talking about! He's been missing for weeks now, and we haven't a single lead until now, and you're going to tell me that there isn't anything?!"

"Calm down, Joe, I'm not the bad guy here, remember?" Fenton said, anger slowly creeping into his voice as well.

Joe sensed it immediately, realized what he was doing, and simmered down. "Sorry." He mumbled.

"We'll have to look at this from another angle," Fenton murmured, more to himself that to his son. "There's got to be—" The doorbell rang, denting the tension that caked the room atmosphere.

Neither moved to get it until it rang again and they remembered that Laura and Gertrude had gone out to do groceries. Joe reluctantly pushed himself up from where he sat and went to get the door.

"A minute," he called as he freed the door from the many locks that held it shut. When he finally got it open, he found himself staring into a pair of the jadest eyes he had ever encountered. His eyes had traced her face's every contour before he realized he had been staring and she had been trying to tell him something.

"Sorry, spaced out for a second there," he forced a laugh. "Can I help you?"

"I was just wondering if a Frank Hardy lived here?" the girl repeated herself, her hair blowing in the breeze. Joe started and closed his mouth at last.

"I don't mean to be rude or anything, but… who are you exactly?" Joe asked.

"Oh, forgot, I'm Cordelia Moore," she said as she extended a hand. "I'm a friend of Frank's."

He shook her hand with a dubious look on his face. "Again, not to be rude but, I know all of Frank's friends and you're—"

"You know what," Cordelia interrupted, clearly uncomfortable about where the conversation was leading to. "I just wanted to know if he was here. So if you could just tell him—"

"He's not here." Joe blurted out. Desperate to keep this mysterious girl from leaving so soon. Desperate to rid his shoulders of the invisible weight that he knew would never leave until he had his brother within arm's reach again.

"What do you mean he's not here? Doesn't he live here?"

"Yeah, but… um, see… he's been missing for weeks," Joe said, trying to keep himself from falling apart. He had managed to keep it together since Frank's disappearance and he was not about to blubber like a baby in front of some girl he's never even met before.

"How can that be? I was just with him yesterday," Cordelia said in a hushed voice. She felt the ground beneath disintegrating… her senses numbing her from the rest of the world. She felt her chest constricting, only letting her get the smallest of breaths. She felt as if every bone in her body was melting. "I can't… I can't…"

"Hey, why don't you come in and sit down for awhile, you look like you're about to—"

Cordelia Moore keeled over in dead faint, and felt her body collide into someone else's. "Frank…" She whispered. Then the darkness overtook her senses.

Joe looked down at the girl he now held. _She knows something. A lead!_

* * *

They hoisted the boy out of the tank and carried him to another room for preparation. He was unconscious.

They placed the still body on a metallic table in the center of the room. The boy's eyes shot open in panic, a response to the iciness that came into contact with his bare back. A split second later he was struggling against the hands that held his arms and legs and wrapped around his torso. He struggled to get free, to escape, but could not defeat the iron grips. It took a minute or so to get the boy's wrists strapped in and his ankles tied down. By then, Frank Hardy was exhausted and breathing heavily, and he sagged back onto the table after several minutes of trying to wrench himself free of the restraints.

Calming down some, he focused his attention on what was going on around him. There were four of them. He watched the backs of one as he left the room. The other three remained. Each was wearing scrubs, gloves, and a mask over the lower half of their faces; their eyes free to squint at him.

"What are you doing?" Frank rasped. "What do you want from me?"

"Shhh…" one of them, a woman, coaxed. Her eyes were a clear blue, but they were apathetic. She was swabbing an area on his arm, something that was making him very nervous. Before he knew it, the syringe had been plunged into the same area and its contents emptied into him.

"Wha—?" Frank stammered in confusion. His vision was sliding out of focus and he fought to stay awake.

"Shhh…" the woman hushed again. "Just lie still. Don't fight it. If you do… it will only make things more… painful."

Frank gasped inwardly but could do no more as he succumbed to the inevitable darkness.

Frank woke to a searing headache and his heart pumping hard in his chest against the coldness that threatened to dominate his senses. He looked down. He was on his stomach, and no longer on the cold, metal table. No, this time it was white tile. He could feel a flexible tightness holding his wrists together, and realized it must be one of those plastic ties. He looked up and saw the walls, ceilings, and lights were also white. For a few moments he was blinded by the brightness and the clarity of what he was seeing. _I must have been in that tank quite awhile_, he thought. _Where am I? Dad? Joe? Mom? Do they even know I'm missing? Where' Moore? Where's Cordelia? Does she know what her mother is really like? When am I getting out of here? Where is _here_? What have they done to me? What will they do to me?_

No one was in sight. No one to provide him with the answers to his questions. Everything was blank.

Looking for escape, he saw only one way in or out of the room. For what seemed like days, he remained the way they positioned him, on his stomach, and staring at the door—or at least, what he saw of it, the barest of outlines in one of the white walls. He was so drained. So exhausted. He couldn't lift a finger if he wanted to. He was angry for being so helpless, for them not having the decency to even provide him with decent clothes, for Moore's unjustifiable motives, for not being able to move, for—he stiffened visibly. For his dad and brother… not finding him still. The same plea kept running through his mind… _please_, _find me._

* * *

"It was not effective. As far as we know, it only caused paralysis from the neck below," Fuller reported. Nadine Moore clucked and shook her head in frustration.

"I thought I had it right," Moore mumbled. "But that's not always the case," She paused and turned to Fuller for effect. "Even for me, I guess. Only human, after all."

"What will you have me do?"

"Make sure that the boy gets food and water. I don't want him dying before I'm able to find the cure. In the meantime, I'll work on creating another formula. I'm sure it'll work this next time. And even if it doesn't, who's going to stop me from trying again… and again… and again…?" She was smirking and eyeing him expectantly.

"No one, Dr. Moore," Fuller supplied with a small pathetic smile. "No one."

* * *

**A/N If anyone has any suggestions, feel free to tell me. I apologize if the story has plot holes and gaps and is sometimes cryptic. I take so many breaks in between my writing, it's hard to keep track of what's going on and what I want to happen! Anyhoo, I will be making the plot a little less silly and a little less convoluted for my own sake if not yours :P ! Thanks to all who have read and all those who have read and reviewed!  
**


	25. Chapter 25

**I was thinking of uploading this later but changed my mind! :P :) Enjoy!**

* * *

Thick eyelashes fluttered as Cordelia blinked her eyes open. She saw a pair of sapphire and a pair of coffee orbs staring down at her anxiously. It took her a moment to remember where she was and why she was there.

"Oh, what happened?" Cordelia murmured as she sat up, already knowing the answer.

"You fainted," Joe told her. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, quite," she smiled weakly. "It's not unusual for me to do that, so don't worry too much about it."

"Oh, okay," Joe nodded. He couldn't help but be more concerned about finding out what she knew of Frank's whereabouts. "Listen, not to sound callous or anything, but we've been really worried about Frank. Do you where he might be?"

"Um," Cordelia frowned. "I think we both have the same problem. I left home to look for him."

"Cordelia, right?" the man with the hazel eyes asked. She looked at him and almost gasped. She had completely overlooked him, who because of his striking resemblance to Frank, she now assumed to be his father. She nodded. "We need your help if we're ever going to find my son. Why don't you start off from the beginning? Tell us how you met and when."

"Of course," she nodded slowly, her brows furrowing as she concentrated, determined to help. "It was a couple of weeks ago. I live with my mother on Mulberry Estate."

"That old mansion out on Brickwell?" Fenton prompted. She nodded.

"My mother had brought him with her when she came back from… well, I'm not really sure, I mean… she didn't exactly say. What she _did_ tell me was that he was looking for a cure… for a friend of his." She paused when she saw Fenton and Joe exchange looks. "What my mother didn't know was that Frank had no sick friend."

"He was lying," Joe confirmed. "It was really Frank who was sick."

"Yes, he told me," Cordelia told him. Joe's eyes widened in surprise. "I told him I wouldn't tell anybody, that he could trust me especially because he and I have the same sickness."

"What?" the two men before her chorused.

"He told me about the headaches, the nausea—everything… everything that I've been going through since I could remember."

There was an audible sigh as Joe breathed out in relief. He had been preparing himself for news of his brother's death, but the girl sitting on their couch now was living, breathing evidence that Frank's chances of survival were much better than he had originally thought. It was only a moment later that he noticed her frowning at him. _Great, she must think I'm a cold-hearted—_

"I didn't mean…" Joe stammered. "It's just that… I thought that Frank's illness… I thought it might kill him and—"

"No, it won't," Cordelia said, tearing her gaze away. "It won't kill him. Only give him a lifetime of suffering and pain and…"

"That's no life at all," Fenton commented.

"But my mother," Cordelia said, wiping at her eyes. "She's been working. So hard. She's a scientist, chemist, a doctor… she's been working to find a cure for me. So that I can finally live a normal life."

"No…" Fenton breathed. Joe and the girl looked up at him questioningly, but Cordelia suddenly gasped.

"Wait, you don't think—"

"Cordelia, is it possible your mother could have found out about Frank and his illness?"

* * *

He gagged again, feeling the burning in his throat accentuate. It seemed like years since he was last inside the somewhat protective embrace of the water tank. Now he was staring into the toilet—

and not for the first time.

"Are you finished?" a voice behind him rasped, at the same time grabbing the back of his shirt and shaking him.

"Y—yes." He croaked, wiping off some remaining bile from his lips. He was about ready to pull out his own hair. His captors were unpredictably fiendish, he decided. One minute he's eating the food they've given him, and the next their stuffing a tube down his throat and he's gagging on warm salt water. Pumping his stomach, they called it. It was then that he realized they must have been prepping him for the next antidote.

"Finally," the man said, yanking him onto his feet. "Worried I was going to have to call in the cavalry case you puked yourself inside out."

"S—sorry t—to disappoint," Frank growled as he was shoved forward at every other step. He cringed at the sight of the white door. Before he could muster up enough energy to shout protest, the man had him by the arms and was throwing him unceremoniously into the room. The white room. White walls. White floor. White ceiling. White light. Sprawled on the floor, the warmth of his breath moistening the white tiles, Frank felt his stomach lurch. _Not again_, he thought as a sinking feeling settled itself in his stomach. He felt his arms grabbed once more from behind and bound with the fast becoming familiar zip tie. The man then flipped him onto his back.

"No, please, not again," Frank murmured as his vision throbbed in and out of focus. By the sounds he was hearing, he could tell that the man was prepping another syringe, filling it with… more of Moore's "trial" antidote.

"Hush now, my little guinea pig," the man in the scrubs said with a sneer. "This will only hurt a moment."

"Enough," Frank rasped. "Please…"

"Shh…" the man was now swabbing Frank's arm. The boy's murmurings were starting to irk him.

"W—why are y—you helping—h—her?" Frank gasped as the needle pierced his shoulder. "This isn't r—right!" He gritted his teeth and then relaxed when he felt the needle withdraw.

"What can I say," the man grunted. "Pay's good, health care's more than decent… I've got needs you know."

"I do too," Frank hissed. "But I… I d—don't go helping der—deranged scientists… kidnap and e—experiment on p—people." The man froze. He stooped and whispered gruffly into Frank's ear.

"Who made you the judge of me?" Without another glance, the orderly left the room, leaving Frank sweating and writhing under the powerful gaze of the white fluorescents that ruled the ceiling. The youth could feel a strange heat creeping down his arm. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but they eventually shut and he fell unconscious. Ten minutes later, his eyes flew open, the brown orbs pained and dilated. The earlier writhing returned, and eventually turned into a wild bucking as his body rejected the antidote with a passion. A fire was licking his insides and rushing through every pore in his body. The room's temperature seemed to rise from the heat emanating from its captive's body alone. He opened his mouth and let out a feral scream. "NO! UGH. PLEASE!" His head rocked left and right, a violent shaking of the head, desperate to convince himself that the pain was not real. It could not be real. Not this… It went on for thirteen minutes. The voice screaming, sobbing, moaning. The body writhing, bucking, and convulsing. The walls and ceiling mocked him, closing in on him and then swaying back. The lights were a painful haze—each drove their brilliant glare into his retinas with the potency of a nail gun—even when he shut his eyes. After thirteen minutes, he began to fall quiet. His body and mind numbing themselves. His last coherent thought before consciousness took pity on him, he articulated with great effort, and with great hope. "Dad, Joe, Mom… please, find me… take me back home."

* * *

"I thought everything would be much easier now that I have the perfect subject," Nadine Moore murmured as she reviewed the tapes for the umpteenth time that day. "Seems I was mistaken."

Fuller was standing by the door silently as his employer steamed, jabbing at the remote, rewinding, playing, rewinding, playing. It was today's feed, and it was no different from the footage from yesterday, the day before, and the day before that. It was the same whiteness framing the tortured body in the middle. Frank Hardy. The name was quickly etching itself into his brain, refusing to let him forget, refusing to let him justify his own actions and inactions. He knew what they were doing was illegal, was immoral—inhumane! But he could not abandon her. Moore would not let him off so easily.

"I want him prepped again," Moore said finally. Fuller shook his head inwardly, knowing that giving the boy another stomach pump brought them one step closer to killing him. "Fuller, quit gawking and get on with it!"

He snapped to attention and nodded quickly, afraid to say anything. He exited the woman's office and trotted glumly down the hall until he got to the white door flanked by two men in scrubs. With great anxiety, he beckoned for them to open the door. The men nod; it had been the same routine for days now. They prepare the boy, bring him to the room, give him the injection, and then wait for the doctor's orders to do it all over again. The men unlocked the room and entered, ignoring the rise in temperature.

"Another pumping?" one of the orderlies prompted as the other hoisted the prone body over his shoulder. Fuller stared at Frank's clammy, paled face with gut-wrenching emotion until the orderly cleared his throat. The doctor jumped and nodded quickly.

"Yes, Dr. Moore's orders," he said slowly. The man carrying Frank exited, leaving the doctor and the other man alone in the warm, white room.

"Are you alright, Dr. Fuller?" the man asked.

Fuller opened his mouth to assure the man but then stopped and frowned, his hands coming up to rub his temples. "No. No, I'm not alright."

"What is it, sir?"

Fuller looked up and clenched his jaws uncharacteristically. "Never mind. Let's just get to the prep room and get this over with." And with that, Edward Fuller erased all doubt from his mind—just as he had with every "subject" that had had the misfortune of landing on his operating table—Frank Hardy should and would be no different.

* * *

**tbc**


	26. Chapter 26

"This is it," Cordelia said, pointing to a small road that led up to the gates of her mother's manor. Fenton, at the wheel, nodded and looked at Joe, who was already pulling out his cell to send for the police.

"I can't believe he was here the entire time," Joe murmured angrily, snapping his phone shut and jabbing at his seatbelt release. "I should have known—"

"You couldn't have," Fenton reassured him, parking the car behind some trees. "You didn't give up on him, and that's all the matters. We're here now and before you know it, we'll _all_ be sitting around the dinner table and laughing this whole thing off." Joe winced inwardly at his father's uncharacteristic attempts to console him, but he agreed with him. They were here now. Frank was going to be okay. That's all that mattered.

"I'm so sorry…" Cordelia breathed. The two Hardys turned, remembering their passenger. "I should have contacted someone sooner. I don't know why my mother would do something like this! I would never— Oh! And she's doing this for me! Frank's in trouble because of me! Oh!" Tears trailed down her cheeks and wet her lap as she tore her gaze away from the two men in front of her.

"It's alright," Joe coaxed. "This isn't your fault. You didn't ask for this to happen—you didn't ask to be sick, or to have a evil mad scientist for a moth—" His voice was starting to rise with anger but his father quickly interrupted him, seeing the frown starting to form on Cordelia's face.

"Alright, Joe," Fenton said gently.

"She's still my mother… please, tell me you won't let her get hurt," Cordelia said quietly, looking at her lap. "Please."

"I promise," the older Hardy told her.

"Speak for yourself, when I get my hands on her—" Joe ranted before earning another stern look from his father. "Fine. I promise… I'll try to keep her in one piece." He gritted his teeth in anticipation.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Joe muttered as he climbed out of the car.

"Cordelia, you stay here and wait for the police," Fenton instructed. "Joe and I will go talk to your mother. Maybe we can convince her to cooperate and just… just give us back what is rightfully ours."

"Alright, good luck and please be careful," Cordelia said, as Fenton climbed out. "Oh, and when you see Frank… could you tell him that…"

"I'll make sure you and him get a talk when this is all over, I promise," Fenton said gently, closing the car door.

"I'd appreciate it," Cordelia said smiling.

"See you later, and remember, stay in the car," he reminded. After giving her a final smile of reassurance, he hurried off after Joe, who had already started walking up to the manor.

"They're coming for you Frank, just hold on," Cordelia whispered.

* * *

"N—no, no more, p—please!" Frank rasped he struggled to flatten himself against the surface he was lying on. Cold, rubber—gloved—hands held his left arm firmly, keeping him on his right side. His back felt exposed and vulnerable, but he was more worried about the tube that one of the faceless figures in front of him was holding.

Faceless. It was all a blur to him, he could not make out their eyes, which were framed by the white masks and the white scrub caps, only the brightness of the lights overhead that blinded him and obscured everything else beyond him.

He could hear the incessant beeping that surrounded him, the endless scurrying of the faceless white figures, and the pounding of blood in his ears as he willed himself to stay awake and steeled himself for a repeat of what the figures were doing to him. As expected, the tube loomed ever closer until he could no longer see it, but feel it. His muscles jerked instinctively, his neck twisting, struggling to tear away from the invading object as it was pushed past his tongue and down his throat.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, it was registering that there were five or six pairs of hands holding him down, trying to control his bucking and keeping him from falling off the table completely. Their grips on his legs, ankles in particular, were strong and firm. Frank was amazed that so many were helping in his suffering. Anger and disdain rose up from his gut as he renewed his struggles. _All my life,_ he thought._ I grew up trying to help people. My father, my brother and I, we've helped so many. Why is it that this has to happen now? What have we ever done to these people? This is wrong_… _I would never have imagined_… The tube brushed the back of his throat, he gagged again, abdominal muscles wrenching his body further into a fetal position. _So much for the Hippocratic oath_, he thought as one of the hands tightened itself around his calf. _Hypocrit—ic oath more like… must have been the small print_… He tried to pull his legs free and his shoulders away from the hands that gripped them.

"That's it, someone get something to tie him down with!" a voice cut through the melee. Hearing those words, Frank stilled briefly, waited a moment for some hands to relax, and then lashed out. He smiled inwardly at feeling one of pairs of hands disappear followed by a loud curse. "Quick, grab his other leg!" The hands reappeared with a vengeance, grabbing his leg and giving it a vicious twist. Frank nearly choked on the tube that was still making its way painfully down his esophagus.

He heard the rattle of metal against metal and realized with a dread that someone must have returned with handcuffs. As if to confirm this, one of the metal cuffs seized and locked itself around his ankle. His ankle was then jerked to the side of the bed that was nearest to it and secured to it. To what it was secured to, bed rail, or whatnot, Frank could not have cared less, as his another ankle was given the same treatment. He was in an awkward position; the lower half of his body spread eagle while the upper kept firmly on its right side by more indifferent, gloved hands.

The tube finally stopped moving, and the hand that had been none too gently urging it down his through distanced itself until it floated into the haze that was beyond Frank's vision. It returned with something and only when he felt its stickiness around his mouth did he realize that it was tape. They had taped the tube in place. He had gone through this before, by the same hands, same methods, same coldness…

There was a sudden whirring as warm, salt water rushed through the tube and began to flood his stomach. Frank retched, his body's mechanical response to the uncomfortable tube. He was horrified to feel the water settling in his stomach again, to feel it swirl and rush into every crevice and devour every space. He could feel tears threatening as he remembered the tank. The water, flooding into it… these flashbacks fueled his agitation. _Why not just drown me and get it over with?!_ Frank thought, as the trauma of the memory was overwhelmed by anger. _Faceless hypocrites all of you_, he cursed. _Enough. Enough!_ He screamed inwardly as the water made his stomach swell and cramp. It seemed almost as if the figures heard his mental cry. The whirring stopped. The water stopped. For a moment, all Frank could sense was his own breathing, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. Then the whirring began again. In frustration, he tried to scream. This time, the water was rushing _out_ of his stomach. It was as comfortable as the first half of the stomach pumping procedure. _God, please, just stop,_ he pleaded, his resolve disappearing as fast as the water. _Please_…

Frank didn't know how long they kept the suctioning going. All he knew was that they must have reduced his stomach to half its size. He was not impossible, considering the rate that they were going. Halfway through, all his struggling finally took its toll on him and, mercifully, unconsciousness set in.

* * *

_Meanwhile_…

"Dr. Moore," Fuller said, cautiously stepping into her private laboratory. The addressed woman turned to face him and whipped off her goggles with a heavy sigh.

"Quickly, it's on the table, take it," she said, indicating the phial on a table to his right. He grasped it and held it to his chest, a small part of him hoping against hope that this one will be the antidote at last. The phrase 'early retirement' was brightening his hopes like a neon sign and was usually enough to get him through a day on this job. He noticed the sadness and exasperation in Moore's features as he was about to leave and stopped himself.

"Is there something wrong, Dr.?" He asked tentatively. "You've read my last report, yes?"

"My daughter is missing, Fuller," Moore told him.

"Oh," he said dumbly, unsure of what to say. "Since when?"

"Since yesterday," she replied. "I can't believe I never noticed." She muttered under her breath, threw down the goggles, and shook her head.

"I'm sure she's somewhere in the manor, up to no good," he laughed half-heartedly. "You know teenagers…" He frowned at himself, he had no idea what he was saying nor did he _want_ to know what he was saying. He had no kids, and was none the poorer for it.

"How is our subject?"

Fuller was caught off guard at the second sudden turn in conversation and cleared his throat. "Excellent, we've just finished suctioning a half hour ago and he's already waiting for…" He paused and held up the phial. "this."

"Alright, well, let's not keep him waiting any longer," Moore said crisply. "Go on."

"Right away, madam," Fuller said and took his leave. Nadine Moore watched the door close behind him and turned to face the table again. It was littered with papers, which were littered with scribbling and notes, which all related to one thing… or rather, one person. She stared at the letters that marked many of the sheets and envelopes until her eyes watered. FRANK HARDY. _I can't believe Cordelia would leave because of one boy_, she thought. _What did she expect to achieve by leaving to look for him? That they could be friends? That I wouldn't be able to find her and take her back? _A small thought wormed its way through her mental filter for the unwanted truth, and voiced itself. _She expected to find a life worth living. Freedom. Friendship, perhaps even _love._ Everything she never had here, with you. It never occurred to her that her mother would miss her. Not once. And the worse part about it, Nadine, is that somehow… somewhat… she was right._ At that moment, the scientist in Nadine collapsed, leaving a guilt-stricken mother sobbing in its wake.

* * *

**A/N: Happy holidays to all! **

**Only a few more chapters left! :)**

**Thanks to all those who are bearing with me :P !**


	27. Chapter 27

Joe let out a muffled huff as he landed, bending his knees slightly at impact.

"Frank will flip when we tell him we scaled a thirteen foot wall barehanded," Joe told his father to ease the tension he was feeling. "Not knowing how we did it will keep him up for who knows how many nights." He let out a small laugh.

"I'm sure," Fenton agreed with a smile, dusting his pants as he surveyed their surroundings.

"You'd think that a place like this would have tighter security," remarked the younger Hardy as he followed his father out of the low shrubbery that lined the walls surrounding the estate.

"I guess she thought less would be more… more than enough."

"Well, well, well, Nadine Moore, you just made your second mistake," Joe muttered under his breath. _The first being taking my brother, my best friend, my second-half._ His body tensed with anger.

Fenton, about to speak, noticed Joe's change in demeanor and paused. "That's the first time you've said her name since Cordelia mentioned it on the way here."

"What? You mean, Moore?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know… it leaves an unpleasant taste in my mouth," Joe explained with a voice strained with a simmering anger, still scanning the outside of the manor. "Coppery… like the words are raking the insides of my mouth as I say them."

"I hope you're not planning on doing anything rash, son," Fenton said gently.

"I'm not planning anything," Joe said grimly, clenching his fists and refusing to meet his father's eyes. Seeing as his son's mind seemed made up, Fenton sighed and decided to focus his attention on the task at hand.

He looked at Joe and pressed a finger to his lips, waited for Joe to acknowledge him, and then proceeded to crouch while pressed against the moss covered outer wall.

He beckoned for Joe to follow him. He sprinted to the nearest wall of the manor. Breathing hard, he raised his head to peer over the balcony of the window he was currently below of. The room was dark, but he could easily see that it was empty.

"Boost me up," he told Joe. Joe complied and within minutes the two Hardys were staring at huge white bulks that were furniture draped with white cloth.

Joe swiftly crept to the door and pressed an ear against it. After not hearing any sounds or footsteps, he motioned to his father. In moments the two Hardys were peering around parallel corners of the lavishly carpeted corridor. Again, not a soul in sight. _Where is everyone? Surely even evil mad scientists have enough insecurities to want muscle guarding their precious experiments and whatnots, _thought Joe. _One of which just happens to be my brother. _He added. _Wait, why am I complaining again-- _A sudden tug in his gut, a honed reflex in their line of work as Frank used to put it, or simply intuition, had Joe and his father pressing themselves further against the wall. The sounds of three men laughing got louder as they approached the corner.

"Little brat nearly dealt me a good one to the head," said one. "Imagine his surprise when they turned on the pump. Not a moment too soon, I think."

"Pity he passed out in the middle of it," said the other. "I was just starting to enjoy myself."

Joe seethed silently, hands balling into fists. _Frank, buddy, hold on..._

"That wasn't right. He's just a kid, for cryin' out loud. He reminds me of my kid brother, fresh out of high school..." a new voice asserted.

"You'll get used to it soon enough, Billy."

"What about his parents, his family? They're probably looking for him. We're in way over our heads."

"The only thing we're over is over_paid_."

"Still, that doesn't make this right."

"Damn right," Joe growled as he stepped away from their hiding place. The three guards' barely had time to widen and fully register shock before Joe lashed out at them. Fenton, after shaking his head at Joe's apparent inability to supress his anger, followed suit. Before long the three men were on the ground heaving and cradling a limb or two. Fenton reached down and grabbed the scrawniest of the trio.

"Where is he?"

"Who?"

"The boy!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"I can show you," croaked one of the other men. Billy, Joe surmised. "I can lead you to where they're holding him."

"Alright then," Fenton nodded. They proceeded to untie the remaining guards belts and shoe laces, prod them into the empty room, and leave them there bound at the ankles and wrists.

The remaining guard eyed them apprehensively as they crept down another hall.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, turning to face the Hardy pair.

"Keep walking," Joe hissed.

"He's just around the corner here, third door on the left. You can't miss it, especially not with the two blockheads standing guard." Joe was already peering around the corner and nodded in confirmation. He could feel his pulse quicken and the beginnings of an adrenaline rush.

"You said you were sorry," Fenton prompted Billy, who nodded with as much sincerity as he could express.

"I was unemployed and desperate, this job seemed heaven sent... That is, until I found out the things they were doing here." Billy shook his head. "I wanted out of here but they threatened my family. Said I knew too much."

"Well, now's your chance to do something about all this. Leave now and wait for the police, there's a car just outside the estate walls, hidden. A girl, I presume you know her, Cordelia is in there. Stay with her and keep the both if you out of trouble." Billy nodded, and Fenton turned to his son, who had been shifting from one foot to another impatiently.

"Good luck, I hope your friend's alright," Billy told them and then disappeared around a corner.

"Brother," corrected Joe under his breath. Fenton gave him one nod and the two dashed into the hallway, arms raised and faces grim. The two burly guards seemed to be more worth Moore's money than the earlier ones but they too succumbed to Fenton's experienced combat style and Joe's well honed jabs and punches that were steeled with a rage.

As soon as his opponent's eyes rolled into the back of his head and without another thought, Joe grabbed the handle on the door, which he only now noticed was a stark white that contrasted painfully with the soothing brown hues of the wood paneled walls. It was painful, hard to imagine, the things that might have happened behind this door, what might have been done to his brother. As he pushed the door open, the sight he beheld was enough to make his blood run cold.

A/N: I know, I know, long time no update. No excuses this time. :) 


	28. Chapter 28

"Frank!" Joe cried as he ran, falling to the ground by his brother. Frank was edged up on his side with his back against the wall. He was not moving.

"Joe, is he--?" Fenton rambled as he dashed in at hearing his son's cry. He started at the sight of Frank. The boy looked like death dressed in loose fitting grey sweatpants and the top half of a white hospital gown. Lips as pale as the walls, skin glossed with sweat, and ankles blistered and bruised. He could not rid the lump that had formed in his throat.

"Frank, c'mon buddy, open your eyes," Joe coaxed chokingly, rubbing his brother's hand. Cold. Fenton felt for a pulse. There it was, weak but stubborn.

"Frank, son, it's dad," he added to Joe's soothings. There hearts fluttered in time with Frank's lashes as he roused from sleep.

"Joe," it was not a question, it was a simple breath of relief. Frank turned his head slightly and managed a wan smile. A wetness gathered at the corners of his eyes, framing the toffee orbs tearily. His next word was choked. "Dad." Relief flooded the trio.

"You're alright, bro," Joe whispered, squeezing his hand tightly.

"Feel... s'ck. G'na... throw... up..." Frank's body tensed and shuddered. "Help--Please!" He only managed to hold down the bile as he thrust the last word out, and he held up a trembling finger to indicate the oh-too-familiar bathroom. He didn't see them nod, nor feel as they lifted him carefully by the arms and carried him into the indicated room. All he was aware of was that the toilet bowl was back in front of him. He was back. He bent over it and retched. He sat back, lips trembling in sync with the hand that reached up to wipe it.

"No... more. Please," he groaned, clutching his stomach, which now seemed to have grown out of his control.

"It's over now," Joe reassured him, rubbing small circles on his brother's trembling back.

Fenton set his anxiety aside and motioned to Joe that they must get a move on. Joe nodded and wordlessly, they began to carry Frank out of the bathroom. Frank had a loose but urgent grip on the others' arms.

"Well, Mr. Hardy, had I known that would be gracing us with your reputable presence I would have prepared for you a better welcome," a woman's snide voice echoed the white room.

"Nadine Moore," Fenton said stonily. "I should say, there is no better welcome than being reunited with your child. But I think of the circumstances, I think of you... it disgusts and, to put it bluntly, pisses me to no end."

"No need for things to get unpleasant, Mr. Hardy," Nadine said slowly. Behind her appeared men heavily armed and stone faced.

"At last, the real brawn of the operation," Joe snorted. "You were expecting us."

"I took precautions after I found out Cordelia had left to find... him," Nadine nodded at Frank. The dark haired teen was now lucid enough to know that he was being referred to, and all grips, his and Joe's and Fenton's, tightened briefly.

"Cordelia..." Frank said hoarsely and urgently.

"She's safe, don't worry," Joe whispered.

"Let me up," Frank croaked, painfully shifting his weight more onto himself. His brother and father let him but kept a hand on either shoulder protectively.

"I do hope for your sake that you're planning on letting us walk out of here without a scuffle, without anyone getting hurt," Fenton told Nadine warningly.

"I'm sorry, Fenton, truly I am, but I can't let you do that. Not with Frank. It'd be like asking Edison to chuck the first working light bulb out the nearest window," she laughed as she shook her head. "I've worked... too long, too hard, for it to all end here. I need Frank to help me finish what I've started."

"No!" growled Frank, stepping toward Nadine menacingly before either Hardy could stop him. "I can only imagine how many people you've plucked off the street and made into your personal guinea pigs. This ends today."

"Oh, but don't you want to help me, Frank?" Nadine prompted. "What's the matter? Change your mind about my daughter, think she doesn't deserve--"

"I want to help Cordelia, but not like this," Frank rasped, shaking his head. "Not this way."

"Whatever happened to pretty pleases and asking nicely?" Joe muttered under his breath. "But no, I suppose those don't exist in Nadine's Moore little world of I-always-get-what-I-want."

"Now I know Frank is the smart one," retorted Nadine. "Alright enough chit, 'nough chat, go get 'em boys. And try not to bruise that one too much? I still need him." They knew without following her gaze that she was referring to the one held behind the other two Hardys' backs protectively.

Frank, unaccustomed to being seen as so fragile, pushed against his brother and father, who simply pushed him back as the burly men advanced.

The first man lashed out at Joe, thinking him to be easier to pick off first before his old man. He was, unfortunately for him, very wrong. Joe ducked his jab and parried with a lightning combination of his own. Two of the other men approached Fenton, who took the initiative the moment the two men were within arms reach. By the time Fenton finished executing a series of moves, both men were down for the count, which left-- he looked up despairingly at the three men still standing and waiting, not including the one presently grappling with Joe.

Frank, meanwhile, was contemplating quickly visiting his porcelein friend again before jumping into the fray; his entire body was rigid but he could feel his abused insides trembling with the after-effects of the lastest drug. He held out a hand to steady himself against the nearest wall and prayed for strength to help his brother and father.

Joe was now sporting a split lip and a cut above the eye, but his opponent was much worse off, what with the black eye, chipped teeth, and bruising all over his jaw and torso. With a vicious right hook to the bottom jaw, the man was caught completely off guard, and crumpled to the floor.

Frank tried to smile at Joe when he threw a glance his way and then watched as his brother was tackled by another guard. He had just about maintained an adequate state of stability and coordination to let go of the wall and had just decided to step in and help his brother, when he was suddenly grabbed around the waist and hoisted agonizingly over a well muscled shoulder that jabbed at his lower torso when his grabber started jogging.

"Dad!" he screamed, feeling like a two year old for all he was worth. "Help--" The man put on a sudden burst of speed; it stole what little breath Frank had and once again found himself disoriented with the number of turns the man was making. He could no longer hear the sounds of the fighting, and it worried him. He could not stand, or perhaps even survive, another bout with Nadine's overly enthusiastic research team. Gritting his teeth and muttering a hasty prayer, he suddenly reach his hand up against the back of the man's head, and using it as leverage, poured all his energy into smashing the knee of the inner leg into man's face. It was an exhausting, desperate, and futile effort, and the man holding him knew it. Frank's thigh had mushed into the man's face quite uselessly, and under different circumstances, something in the back of his mind told Frank that he would have been laughing at himself. The jabbing at his gut increased tempo as the man jogged up a flight of stairs. By now, Frank was praying for the darkness to put him out of his misery. No, you can't think like that, Frank scolded. Dad and Joe will come. They will. They always-- He could hear a whirring and a swooshing. His mind's eye immediately conjured up an image of a helicopter. Frank renewed his struggled but the man was built like a tree.

"Frank!" Joe's voice exploded from somewhere lower in the stairwell.

"Joe--" he hollered, his hope quickly resurrected at the sound. He could feel the man slowing beneath him, shifting his weight, the whip of the wind on his hair, his clothes, and his own voice as he was maneuvered through the door to the building's rooftop. The pace slowed further as the both of them was assaulted by the winds.

"Hurry up, James," A woman's crisp, familiar voice reached Frank's ears and sent a new panic through him. The possibility of him enduring Nadine Moore indefinitely was starting to become more real. He craned his neck up just in time to see Joe crash through the door and immediately spy Frank and the man holding him.

"HEY! LET HIM GO! STOP!" Joe ran as he screamed, adrenaline and anxiety rushed through him. "FRANK!"

Even with the helicopter's noise, the sound of approaching sirens reached Joe and filled him with more courage, hope, and a even tad bit of relief.

"Stop, please," Frank grunted as he was rolled off the man's shoulder and dumped unceremoniously onto the cold steel of the helicopter's floor. The throbbing in his head had returned and nausea was waving over him again. He could hardly hear his brother anymore with the pounding in his ears.

Joe was starting to feel the panic, hope slipping through his fingers as he realized suddenly that he was too far, too late, to save Frank.

"MOM! STOP!" a new voice cried above the whirring of the blades. James had just clambered into the chopper. Cordelia Moore, the rooftop door slamming close behind her, squinted against the winds that whipped around her and Joe.

"CORDELIA," Joe started, but she was already off, stopping to take a defiant stand in front of the ready helicopter.

"MOM, STOP THIS PLEASE!" she pleaded, waving her arms frantically.

Joe joined her to see Nadine, seated next to the pilot, go rigid, neck muscles taut and jutting out, in surprise and hesitation.

"DON'T DO THIS!" Cordelia screamed. "NOT FOR ME, MOM. YOU HAVE TO LET FRANK GO!"

(Most of the following conversation is being screamed but keeping it all uppercase will probably only irk people, so voila, no more capitals! :) )

"Cordelia, get on the chopper, now!" demanded Nadine.

"No, this is wrong and you know it. Please, let's not make things any worse."

"This is for your own good, for you! Why do you refuse to acknowledge this? Do you want to stay sick forever?!"

"If being cured means losing my mother, then yes! Mom, you can still end this now, I won't hate you for it. It's alright, I know you love me and that you tried. We had each other, that was enough for me, but all this drama I could have lived without. Please, mom!"

There was a long, loud pause, broken only when Fenton Hardy came barging onto the roof, a train of men in uniform behind him. Immediately they surrounded the chopper, leaning into its tumultuous winds with their firearms raised.

"Mom!" Cordelia cried again, fear for her mother quickly overriding fear for Frank. She was poised to run to Nadine but Joe held her back.

Nadine, hearing her daughter's pleas and seeing the police, felt a sinking feeling in her gut, one she had not felt for awhile now, not since she thought she had made progress with Frank. At the thought of him, she spared a glance at the semiconscious dark haired youth lying next to James. The feeling waved over her again, she was losing. Losing her daughter's battle and her own. She put a hand on the pilot's arm, a signal. He nodded and shut off the helicopter.

"Exit the vehicle with your hands behind your head, slowly!" One of the officers in charge said into a megaphone. Fenton watched with his heart in his throat as the blades slowed, the whirring died down, and Nadine Moore stepped down from the chopper as instructed. James saw his employer and followed suit, his enormous girth putting Frank out of Fenton's sight for a few moments as he clambered out. Once the pilot, James and Moore had cleared the chopper, officers surrounded them and secured them. Joe and Fenton had only one person in mind, however, and raced to the chopper.

"Frank?" Joe choked, seeing his brother still as death. He was curled up on one side with his eyes half-open.

"Can I get some help in here, please?!" Fenton hollered, not taking his eyes off of his son.

Joe shook his brother gently, despite knowing it wouldn't do to physically agitate him in his condition, but the need to know that Frank was alright, or at least going to be, was overwhelming. He smiled through watery eyes. "Frank, come on you big baby, you can open your eyes now. It's all over, everything's fine now." He heard his father called and saw him leave reluctantly. When he turned back to his brother, he was surprised to see Frank stir and open his eyes sleepily, turning his head a few degrees to look at Joe. "You're… crying." He said groggily, fingers twitching, wishing but unable to lift his hand to brush away his little brother's tears. Too tired, too exhausted, his mind told him. What his brother said just a moment ago only now registered and he laughed—or tried to—his breath catching in the middle of it. "And you said I was the big baby."

"Well, the way you were ala Sleeping Beauty throughout this whole fiasco and I had to play Prince Charming," Joe told him with a relieved chuckle. "I'd say you're still the bigger baby."

"Hey, no fair, I was…" He trailed off. Joe could see in his brother's eyes what he'd never seen before. He looked haunted.

"Frank, hey, look at me," Joe said firmly. "That's all over. It's all behind you, now. You're going to be fine." He playfully nudged his brother out of his reverie, and earned himself a wary smile.

"I know, Joe," he said with as much optimism as he could afford not to completely fall apart in front of his younger brother. "I knew it the entire time. Thanks, bro."

Fenton returned in a huff, breathless from giving orders and urging someone to get paramedics up to the rooftop _yesterday_. Seeing Frank awake and lucid pacified him significantly, and he grasped one of his son's limp hands.

"Dad," Frank said, before Fenton could ask how he was. "I'm fine. Doctor here said so." He tilted his head toward Joe, who rolled his eyes.

"I'm sure, I'm sure," Fenton said with a strained laugh, patting the clammy hand that he held.

"Dad…" his older son said in a slow, hushed voice.

"What is it, Frank?" his father asked anxiously, his mind already anticipating a plethora of possible answers. Feeling cold? Need something for the pain? Want to sit up? But Frank simply closed his eyes and leaned back, his breathing deepening.

"I'm so, so, sorry." He said at last.

Fenton couldn't describe that moment afterward. He was suddenly reminded of what got them all into that mess in the first place. He remembered the fight, the yelling, the fainting spells, the concern, the worry, the anger, the defiance, the naïveté. It all played back in his mind's eye; the gritting of teeth, the flexing of jaws, the hardness in the eyes, and the rebelliousness in the stance. All things that Frank had done, that angered him once, all so trivial and insignificant now in the face of the horrifying drama that had unfolded. All that mattered was that Frank was alright, that they could all heal and return to life before the whole mess. Despite the honesty and sincerity of Frank apology, he couldn't help but feel it was ridiculous. Ridiculously Frank. Leave it to him to apologize after an ordeal like that, he thought and laughed tearfully. Tenderly, he stroked the dark head, who had lapsed into sleep.

"You're alright, Frank," he whispered. "You're alright."

**A/N: Mwuahaha! The end is nearing! *sigh* I think this is my longest chapter yet; just wanted to get this all out at once. Thanks to all who have stuck with me, it's a very bumpy ride, I know. There are lots of details that are unaccounted for, and so I promise to finish this (*chants 'I will finish. I will finish.'*) and post a rewrite. I desperately need a Beta, so if interested, very patient, and willing, please tell me!**

**Spoiler: The following chapter(s?) will focus on the recovery and the healing of the characters--Fenton, Joe, Cordelia even, and especially Frank. Lots of patching up to do, so I'll be off! Thank you readers, reviewers, story-alert-ers, and story-favorite-rs!--muses of iMused. :) :P  
**


	29. Chapter 29

Fenton watched as Joe wore the carpet down where he was pacing, and fought the temptation to the same. He contented himself with rubbing his wife's shoulder as she leaned into him. It had been four and a half hours since she first joined them at the Bayport City Hospital, and two times that since Frank was gurneyed into the emergency room. Twice his doctor had come out, twice the doctor was unable to tell them anything "definite," and twice they were patiently and politely denied permission to see him. Earlier, upon their arrival, Joe and Fenton had to wrestle off several orderlies before they could convince the doctors that what Frank was suffering from was not contagious, and that they were fine. The men in scrubs had then reluctantly ceased trying to drag them into an examination room.

And it was only now, over nine hours later, that Frank's doctor suddenly appeared, mask around his neck, gloves and cap tightly fisted together in one hand. Joe stood to his attention abruptly, while Fenton and Laura eased themselves to their feet, worry and concern having exhausted them significantly more than their son.

"I know you're anxious to see Frank, so I was thinking perhaps you'd like to see him first before I tell you what we've found? Rest assured, though, that he is, all in all, doing well, considering the circumstances," the doctor said carefully with a wan smile. The Hardys nodded wordlessly and unanimously, with their hearts in their throats.

A few minutes later found the three of them filing into Frank's room.

"Hey," Frank greeted with as much cheer as he could muster. His true feelings were betrayed by the wetness starting to gather in his eyes, which were still slightly bloodshot and dazed. Not much of an improvement since Joe and his father last saw him.

"Aw, Frank, honey," Laura said breathlessly, rushing in and wrapping her slender arms around him the best she can while he was inclined on the bed. "I was so worried! Everything has been too slow since your father called me. The flight, the drive here, the waiting... Oh, I'm so glad you're okay!" She flinched visibly at her own words, hearing how poorly they presented her anxiety and relief. But Frank simply reciprocated the hug and kissed her cheek, thereby reassuring her somewhat that he understood perfectly without her having to say any more. She smiled and then let go to let the other two occupants have their share of him.

"So, big baby, all patched up already?" Joe teased but there was an unmistakable quiver to his voice. Frank was about to answer in the positive but then paused in question.

"Dr. Timms hasn't talked to you yet, has he?"

"No, he thought, and rightly at that, that we would want to see you first. So, here we are."

"Why, is there something we should know or..." Fenton interjected worriedly.

"No, no," Frank reassured them. "Just wondering…"

"I've managed to keep both the authorities and the media at bay for now," Fenton told him. "But I don't have to tell you…"

"Yeah, I know," Frank said grimly, not in the least looking forward to the bureaucracy and publicity that will start to hound him at the earliest opportunity and with as little regard to his recovery imaginable. He was more pained, however, to see the looks of concern on his parents' and brother's faces, and put on a reassuring smile. "But it'll be fine, I promise. I'll be fine."

"You better be," Joe warned playfully. There was a knock at the door; Dr. Timms stuck his head in pointedly, and Fenton and Laura walked out to talk to him.

"Anything on Cordie?" Frank asked the moment the door shut behind them.

"Cordelia?" Joe repeated dumbly, unused to the casual familiarity with which Frank used the girl's nickname. "Well, last I heard she was packed off to police headquarters. Why?"

"She's sick. Just as sick as I am, if not more," replied his brother soberly. "They should have brought her here, instead."

"I'm sure she'll be okay, Frank. She seems capable enough of taking care of herself, especially after her little stunt on the rooftop," he told him with a tinge of jealousy.

"Well, that little stunt might have been the very reason I'm even lying here now talking to you," Frank told him. Joe immediately grew somber and nodded slowly.

"Yeah, I suppose it was."

"But, of course, if it weren't for you…" Frank trailed off as he met his brother's eyes in wordless tribute and then quietly and suddenly, the two of them shared a small smile of content.

"Man, if I could say it without tearing up like a baby, I'd say it," Joe said in a quiet, choked voice as his mind recalled the image of Frank pale as the wall he had been leaning against.

"What?"

"That I-" he began but was immediately interrupted by a half-teasing Frank.

"Love you, Frank, and I swear to all that is good and living that if you ever runaway and get yourself into another huge spot of trouble and find yourself looking for me I will not-"

"I _will_ be there," Joe finished with a grin and gripped his brother's clammy hand with both of his.

"Fine, but don't expect me to come running to your rescue anytime soon," Frank told him playfully.

"Who says I'll ever need rescuing?"

"Says your bad luck," his brother teased. "You get into more trouble than I do!"

"True," Joe said with a laugh. "Which only makes you a horrible protector and older brother!" Joe hadn't expected Frank to take the comment so seriously and felt a pang of guilt when his brother fell silent again.

"No, Frank, I was joking," Joe told him quickly, nudging his shoulder.

"No it's true. It was true when I didn't know you had joined the Keepers, that that was partly why your grades were slipping, you were getting into fights, when I let this stupid sickness get the better of me, and even now I might-" Frank felt all the painful memories returning with a vengeance, guilt was written all over his face.

"Shut up, Frank, you're not leaving me alone again, don't you say it," Joe said firmly. "Don't you dare."

"A real brother would have known, understood, dealt with it differently."

"But only a brother of mine would have done what you did," Joe argued. "You covered up for me without my even asking, you're right the virus was in control and that is exactly why you did nothing wrong, you couldn't have prevented anything that has happened the past month. When you went after Gray a.k.a. Moore, virus or not, that was great detective work, and pretty bold too, defying dad and all that. You're a great brother, Frank, the best I or anyone could ever ask for. Don't ever think any different."

"But-"

"If there are any faults in all this, they belong solely to me. I should have told you from the very beginning about the gang. I doubted you, and, yeah, I can't believe it either. I should have been with you the night you were taken. I should have been able to save you from that pyscho and spared you..." He gestured vaguely at the machinery surrounding his brother. "all this. I should have been able to find you faster. I should-"

"Shut up, Joe, man," Frank said tearily. "Let's just split the blame up evenly between the two of us and leave it at that?" Joe paused, incredulous at first, but when he saw his brother wipe at his eyes and smile comfortingly, he grinned.

"We've shared almost everything else, why not?" Joe laughed and enveloped his brother in a bear hug. Frank didn't hesitate, tightening his grip on the one person he had dreaded never seeing again.

...

"Mr. Hardy, Mrs. Hardy," Dr. Timms said, acknowledging them both as they stepped out into the hall with him. "I have to say Frank's case is probably as convoluted as it gets. Unknown toxins, internal scarring, the patient resisting treatment—"

"Wait, 'resisting treatment'?" Laura repeated.

"Yes, Frank fought us every step of the way. It seemed he knew that we were here to help, but he would jerk away when he wasn't flinching, and the nurses and I are quite concerned about his mental state. He hasn't talked to any of us since getting here, understandably enough, but when he doesn't give any inclination at all as to why he's so... afraid, it's worrying."

"Frank's normally very communicative, but with what he's been through... I mean, we ourselves have yet to hear all the details... he was subjected to illicit testing of a drug, that much I can tell you. I was hoping you'd have found something..." Fenton explained with his heart in his throat.

"Well, we're running the blood tests as we speak, so that should shed some light on some things. As for the physical examination, internal scarring in the throat indicates multiple sessions of intubation. Since you mentioned drug testing, most likely from stomach pumping."

Laura's hand flew to her mouth and Fenton held her tighter.

"There is also plenty of evidence of vomiting; stomach pumping is typically followed by severe nausea. Bruising around the ankles and damage to the skin... I'm guessing it was their way of restraining him. A stomach pumping is quite uncomfortable, so..." He trailed off, seeing as his patient's parents seemed to have heard enough. Now came the riskier part of his job. "Your son is fit and healthy, even in this state I can tell he is. If we can purge his body of as much of the toxin or toxins as possible, then I'm confident he will make a complete recovery, slowly but surely."

"So you'll inform us the moment you get the tox reports, doctor?" Laura asked him, and quite unnecessarily he thought.

"Of course," Dr. Timms nodded, putting on the all-too-well-practiced of a smile as reassurance. "Goes without saying. Now, I'll give you a few more minutes with your son, and then you'll have to leave the fretting and fussing to Nurse Debra." He indicated a nurse nearby who was rearranging several items on a tray.

"Thank you, Dr. Timms," Fenton said with a trapped sigh. The doctor nodded and they returned to Frank's room.

...

"What did he say?" prompted Frank, the moment the door clicked shut behind his parents.

"You're going to fine, hon," Laura told him, gripping his hand reassuringly. Frank had a strange feeling that there was something more to what she was said.

"So you guys keep saying," he muttered under his breath. "How much longer are they going to keep me here?"

"Until they're one hundred percent sure of a one hundred percent recovery," Fenton told him, striving to be as firm as he could to ward off complaint but just as well offhand to spare his son more anxiety. "They want to take a look at your blood test results before releasing you. Doctor Timms suspected some unruly toxins still need curing."

Courtesy of Moore, no doubt, Frank thought to himself. "How are you guys holding up?" He asked suddenly, causing all eyes to swivel toward him.

"Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing," Joe teased. Then on a more serious note, "I guess I'm a little annoyed that the doctors won't release you already. I just want to see you home, like normal, like before." He squeezed his Frank's shoulder.

"I second that," Frank laughed. He turned questioningly toward his mother.

"I'm fine, hon," she said softly. "Now that you're here with us... tangible, safe..." She was smiling and stroking his hair as she spoke.

"Wouldn't want me any other way, honestly," Frank replied, putting her hand to his chest.

"We shouldn't be the ones you're worried about," Fenton chided gently as he stood. "Well, our time's just about up. You should be getting some well-deserved sleep." As if on cue, a nurse walked in.

"Hello," she greeted them. "I'm Debra and I'll be taking care of Frank for the remainder of his stay."

"Good to know I'm in better hands now," Frank teased, eyeing his brother meaningfully.

"What?" Joe said defensively.

"You spill half the water I ask for and consume half of what I'm supposed to eat!" Frank told him with a laugh.

"Hey, come on! Its totally normal to accidently walk into a glass wall. Everyone's done it at least once in their lifetime. And-and you said you weren't hungry!"

The room joined Frank in laughter.

...

Dr. Timms stood outside Frank's room, having just ushered Debra in to relieve the other Hardys who have been anxiously watching over Frank for almost 24 hours straight.

He could hear laughter. Relief. Comfort.

He glanced at the results of the blood test clipped into Frank's file. It had been handed to him not five minutes after his talk with Fenton and Laura. He rubbed his forehead wearily as he began walking away. He would tell them tomorrow. Perhaps that would be better. Maybe after they had rested a bit. Afterall, who would want to find out... He shook his head as he reread the results. The numbers, words, terms were now blurred by the significance of their meaning.

Frank Hardy was going to die.

* * *

**A/N: Almost finished... Poor Frank. Wonder what's in store for the Hardys? :D**

***sigh* Have a rewrite to look forward when I'm done... shikes. :)**

**Anyhoo, happy reading to all!  
**


	30. Chapter 30

Frank opened his eyes slowly, afraid of waking the sleeping migraine that had been keeping him company since his family and Deb had left the room.

"Good morning," he murmured dryly, touching his head to make assure himself that it hadn't cracked open from the pain. Yet. He grimaced as the small movement triggered instead a coughing fit. Frank's gut was confirming what his mind was already thinking.

I'm not getting any better. "I'm getting worse," he voiced. What are you saying? Mom and Dad and Joe have already told you time and again, you'll be okay in a few days. Paranoia isn't going to speed up your recovery, just relax, you're... safe. "Safe," Frank whispered to himself, as if the sound of the word alone would guarantee it. There was a sharp rap on the door and Dr. Timms entered carring Frank's file and clipboard.

"Good morning, Frank."

"Hiya, doc," replied the youth, who frowned slightly and sat up slowly in his bed as the doctor approached. Timms was already scribbling down the machines' readings into his pad and was about to engage in small talk with his young patient, as was the norm, but Frank spoke.

"I can tell you've got news of two kinds," he observed. "You can start with the bad." Timms was caught off guard by Frank's... frankness, but quickly smiled and shook his head.

"You're right, I do," he answered. "I normally prefer to talk to your parents first..."

"But seeing as I'm the one in the bed, hooked up to..." he nodded at the surrounding machinery. "You'd be more than happy to make an exception now, right?"

Dr. Timms raised an eyebrow.

"And I'm not a minor." Frank added, a little teasingly, the need for levity too great for him to ignore. "Totally capable of making my own decisions, despite my current situation. Medically included. I promise."

Dr. Timms could find no argument, and although he could easily insist on the young man's parents hearing of the news first, he couldn't find it in himself to deny-

"What is it, Dr. Timms?"

"I'm so sorry, Frank," Dr. Timms said quickly. "I got the results from your testing and -"

"I'm not getting any better, am I?"

"Simply, we've found that you have..." he paused, "a condition unseen until... well, now. Your antibodies have been and still are growing exponentially, well and beyond the normal-"

"But isn't that supposed to be a good thing?"

"Well, your red blood cell count has decreased drastically, your protein and calcium deficiency is alarming, the mere fact that you haven't recovered at least a little color in your cheeks... No, I'm afraid an excess in overzealous antibodies is not... a good thing."

Frank let out the breath he was holding as slowly and as discreetly as he could. A minute passed. And then another.

"Frank?"

"Could you not tell my parents? Joe?" came the reply.

"Frank..."

"Please, Dr. Timms? I just... When I go home, I want... Normal. You know? For at least however long... You know?" Timms heart clenched at Frank's dejected expression, eyes withdrawn, mouth barely opened to speak.

"Frank, I wish I could. Besides, they have a right to know don't you think?"

"But they've worried enough. And whatever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?" He tried to smile.

"This isn't the sort of thing you can hide, Frank. Your father and brother have a sixth sense about that sort of thing, remember?" The doctor tried to smile reassuringly but couldn't bring himself to treat the boy like most other patients. Not with what he has been and is going through, Timms thought. He looked firmly at Frank, who was mulling it all over, brows furrowed.

"Not to mention my mom," Frank added wanly with another small smile. "No, I suppose I'd never be able to keep it secret for long." He paused. "Speaking of... How long?"

When the doctor hesitated, Frank couldn't help but let out a breath.

"No, it's not what you think, Frank," Dr. Timms told him quickly. "We have to do more tests to know definitely—" All efforts to smile, laugh disappeared in an instant.

"No." Frank shook his head firmly. "I'm sorry, Doc, but if I have to go through _tests_… No. I'm sorry, I can't do that. And frankly, I don't appreciate the irony in it either."

"Come now, we have to get to some sort of agreement here, Frank," the other man replied. "You don't want me telling your family _and_ you don't want to take the steps required for your recovery. That's asking me to do the opposite of my job."

"From what we know so far, which is nothing by the way," Frank argued. "There _is no_ recovery, Doctor. We haven't gotten past figuring out what the exact problem is in the first place."

Dr. Timms saw Frank's face darken with anger. "Frank… Talk to your parents, your brother. I would threaten you with not letting you leave the hospital until you get some color in your face, but…" The youth's expression started, and immediately calmed.

"I'm sorry," Frank mumbled. "Just never thought I'd find myself in a situation like this. It's… frustrating."

"I'll call them in. Talk," Dr. Timms said, eyeing the boy pointedly. "I'll try to get your release papers in order by tomorrow. I'm just as concerned with your mental and emotional health as I am with your physical one, Frank. While there's no harm in you going home now, not much we can do without tests—which you refuse, understandably, considering what you've been through—you have to get it off your chest. Whatever it is. I'm worried it's putting a damper on your decision-making skills."

"Thank you, Dr. Timms," Frank said sincerely. "I realize how much of a head case I'm being right now… Don't know how you're putting up with me."

"Oh, this isn't over yet, young man," Dr. Timms said knowingly as he slowly walked out.

* * *

It had been ten minutes since they entered Frank's room and already the air was tense and forebodingly so, with Frank shifting uneasily and his parents forever hovering over him at the slightest hint of pain that would flicker on his face.

Joe was good enough to sit a ways away, Frank noted. He knew how much his older brother hated being fussed over.

"Dr. Timms came into see me," Frank began. His mother patted his arm.

"We know, honey, we came in right afterward…"

"Right, yeah," Frank shook his head, as if berating himself.

"What did he say?" Joe prodded.

"Said that they weren't sure what it is exactly that's wrong with me. They know its gotten my antibodies into some sort of frenzy, turned me anemic, and left me wanting in red cells and calcium," Frank said matter-a-factly. "And to top it off, I've completely lost the tan we worked all summer for." He grinned at Joe, who until now was almost visibly pouting as if to share his brother's misery—which in his heart he was.

"Right," Joe grinned back, remembering their summer spent at a friend's beach house.

"You're almost as bad as your brother, joking at a time like this," their mother cut in, shaking her head solemnly.

"So they don't know what it is?" Fenton asked, his voice the boy's final pull into reality.

"No, they don't," the youth on the bed replied simply.

There was a silence.

"They want to run tests, don't they?" Fenton said finally, more a statement than anything else.

"He's not going through that again—" Joe began.

"I'm not." Frank said firmly, stubbornly.

"I won't stand this, Frank Hardy. You're not helping anyone by not helping yourself," Laura said firmly.

"Wait, Frank, if this is what it will take to get you better, then you should do this. I know you can," Joe urged his brother.

"You don't understand what it was like!"

"I know, buddy, I know. We never will, but then neither will you ever again," Fenton said gently. "I promise you that."

"You're in good hands here, Frank," Laura chimed in, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "And we'll be right beside you, every step of the way, however long however hard it gets."

"Guys…"

"Frank, you're doing it again. Overthinking things. Way I see, either you get those tests or I personally end you right here," Joe teased, though his throat clenched, and his heart ached at the severity of his brother's situation.

There was a long pause.

"No pills, no pumped stomachs."

Three pairs of eyes focused on the figure lying between them.

"Those are my only conditions," Frank said determinedly.

Three hearts and minds seemed to breathe with relief and hope, while one steeled itself for what challenge was to come.

* * *

2 Weeks Later

"We got your results back, Frank," Dr. Timms began. "And I've got good news."

Frank felt his hopes flare up and he almost chuckled, but quickly dampened the urge with a small smile and firm nod.

"Ok, that's good to hear," he said honestly.

"Turns out your sickness was more of a reaction—a severe one—to the drugs and treatments you were subjected to. No disease or such was ever really developed… think of it as a really bad allergic reaction that made it look like you had developed the symptoms of some other illness. I mean, you sitting in front of me right now with even breath, and color in your cheeks is evidence enough. Your body simply needed to be purged and allowed to reset; all you needed was plenty of time to rest."

He let the youth before him absorb the information quietly.

"Wow, that's… that's such a relief," Frank said finally. "They were so worried, you know, Mom, Dad, Joe. They saw me getting better, but they couldn't get their hopes up, not while we still didn't know what… you know. But this is great—they'll be so happy and probably even more relieved than I am right now but… yeah, thank you, Dr. Timms."

"No, Frank, thank you," the doctor said chuckling. "You did not let your fears rule you, and you went through with the tests. I'm relieved that you did, to tell the truth, otherwise I'd be in for a lot of questioning."

"Doubt that there was ever really a risk of that," Frank said knowingly. "My parents and Joe… they're persuasive enough by themselves, I didn't stand a chance against the three of them together."

The two shared a comfortable laugh and Frank leaned over to shake the doctor's hand as he stood up.

"Thanks again."

"No problem, Frank."

"Oh, I almost forgot. The police tell me the doctor that had been assigned to keep tabs on Cordelia Moore's condition while she was being held for questioning… that doctor works here, yes?"

"Well, yes. In fact, I knew you'd ask about her sooner or later, so I talked to Cordelia's doctor."

"And?"

"And… well, her condition hasn't improved or worsened since you probably saw her last. She is confined to her room, but once the ruling has been made—"

"She's innocent," Frank told him firmly. Dr. Timms chuckled reassuringly.

"I know, Frank, never doubted it for a second," he said. "The ruling will be made at eleven—"

"Noon, actually," Frank corrected. "I've, well, we've been following the trial quite closely."

"I stand corrected, noon it is," the doctor nodded. "I'm sure you'd like to see her before then? The trial is coming to close so I doubt that the powers that be would begrudge you two a couple minutes or so together."

"I'd appreciate that, Dr. Timms," Frank said enthusiastically, feeling like an eager school child but throwing caution to the wind for the moment.

"Alright then, why don't you go tell your parents and brother the good news, and I'll call you once you can visit Cordelia."

"Okay, thank you, doctor," Frank said grinning, shaking the doctor's hand again.

Leaving the doctor's office, Frank found himself quickly flanked by his parents and his brother.

"Well?" Joe, not known for being too patient, quickly asked.

"I'm going to be just fine, the doctor said," Frank told them with a wide smile. With answering whoops, grins, and joyful sobs, the trio collapsed on the one, hugging him with delight and relief.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I know this update took forever**** (and it reads kinda rushed)****, apologies! A month into university, and it's only now that I find time to write these chapters (ironic?)**. **Well, the end is in sight, one more chapter (or two?) to wrap things up (with the Moore ladies especially) and then we can put this baby to bed (finally!).**

**As usual, thanks to all my reviewers, alert-ers, and favorit-ers! I know I don't get to reply to all your reviews, but please know that the time you took to write them means a lot to me, and my muse, and my willpower to see this to the finish. Don't want to disappoint so... hope you enjoyed! :)**

**P.S. I haven't locked in my ideas for next chapter, esp. with regard to Cordelia and Frank (hmmm) ... so if you have any suggestions, feel free to review or pm me!**


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